- Fred Bowlby: [describing the most unusual feature of his honeymoon in Rome] And in St. Peter's Basilicate there's this great big horrible statue of St. Peter with his foot worn smooth from kisses.
- Father Neil Boyd: Well, the Italians ARE very passionate.
- Fred Bowlby: And Ilene said to me "For my sake, Fred, give it a kiss."
- Fred Bowlby: [telling the tale of the chair's third victim] Charlie Skinner, a regular, yeah. Folks used to say if they ever do a post mortem on him they'd be lucky to find any blood in his alcohol. Anyway, there he is, soakin' his back teeth for a couple of hours - you know, one double scotch chasin' another down the old tunnel - and he must have sat down there without realizing. Well, then none of his mates would give him a hand, so he gets up, staggers out, gets into his car and drives straight into the river. Only three foot deep and Charlie six foot two. Drowned.
- Father Neil Boyd: Ironic.
- Fred Bowlby: Very. Normally he never took water with his whiskey.
- Father Charles Clement Duddleswell: [having put an end to the doomsday chair] Your turn now, Father Neil.
- Father Neil Boyd: I've no stomach for beer, Father.
- Father Charles Clement Duddleswell: Oh, you don't have to drink anything, lad, just put your bum on that chair like a good Christian.
- Father Charles Clement Duddleswell: It's time that I rooted out this wretched superstition of that doomsday chair once and for all, even if it kills me.
- Paddy: Can I buy ya a drink, Father?
- Father Charles Clement Duddleswell: No, not now, Paddy, no-no-no. Why have I not seen you at Mass these past few Sundays?
- Paddy: Well, you didn't see me because... probably I was prayin' with me eyes closed, Father.
- Father Charles Clement Duddleswell: Promise me something, dear Mrs. Pring.
- Mrs. Pring: What, Father?
- Father Charles Clement Duddleswell: Promise me you won't prey for me. Things are bad enough as it tis.