William: You favour cathedrals.
Jocelyn: I come for confession. And the glass... a riot of color in a dreary, grey world.
Adhemar: Why didn't Ulrich finish him?
Jocelyn: He shows mercy.
Adhemar: Then he shows his weakness - that is all mercy is.
Chaucer: A bit higher. More toward the heavens.
Kate: The moon at least. Her breasts aren't that impressive.
Wat: All right, I'm about this fonging close mate! I swear to God, Quaisimodo! I oughta...
Jocelyn: I demand poetry, and when I want it, and I want it now.
William: Your breasts... they're beneath your throat.
William: For that I say my rosary to her and no-one else.
Wat: Will, that's blasphemy.
Chaucer: Yes, Master Falhurst, I'm well aware a good fawning is on the way.
William: Where will we live? In my hovel? With the pigs inside during the winter so they won't freeze?
Jocelyn: Yes, William. With the pigs.
Young William Thacher: Someday, I'll be a knight.
Germaine: But this Lichtenstein... his technique, rudimentary... style, non-existent. Still, he's fearless.
Adhemar: And you are?
William: Well, I am, um.
Adhemar: You've forgotten, or your name is Sir Um?
William: Ulrich von Lichtenstein from Gelderland.
Adhemar: Well, I'd forget as well, what a mouthful.
Adhemar: You have been weighed, you have been measured, and you have been found wanting. Come back when you're worthy.
Wat: We're English, Geoff! We know who he is!
Jocelyn: Even the peasants can marry for love.
Chaucer: Oh my giddy aunt.
Germaine: My Lord, the Count Adehmar, Son of Phillip DeVitry, son of Gilles... er... Master of the Free Companies, defender of his enormous manhood, a shining example of chivalry and champagne.
[first lines]
William: Should we help him?
