Bruce Nolan

— What do you really care about?
— Grace.
— Grace. You want her back?
— No. I want her to be happy. No matter what that means. I want her to find someone who will treat her with all the love she deserved from me. I want her to meet someone who will see her always as I do now through your eyes.
— Now, that's a prayer.

— My God.
— You can call me Bruce.

— God doesn't take vacations, does he?
— Did you ever hear of the Dark Ages?

— Okay, I screwed up. Can I make it up to you?
— Yeah! Why don't you get me a boat, Bruce.
— What?
— Yeah, a big boat. And then maybe two big bags of cash. Then... Then I'll be happy. Lots of money and lots of stuff. Other people want idiotic crap like getting married or having babies with the man that they've loved for five years. But not me, Bruce. Just give me the boat.

— Who are you?
— I'm the one. Creator of the heavens and the earth, alpha and omega.
— Oh, I see where this is going.
— Bruce, I'm God.

God is a mean kid, sitting on an anthill with a magnifying glass, and I'm the ant. He could fix my life in five minutes if he wanted to, but he'd rather burn off my feelers and watch me squirm!

— I just gave them all what they wanted.
— Yeah. But since when does anyone have a clue about what they want?

— Honey, last night was just...
— Heavenly? I know. I know.

— Wait. Don't come near me. When I'm backed into a corner, I'm like a wild animal. I don't wanna hurt you, but I will, out of instinct.
— You haven't won a fight since grade five, and that was against a girl.
— Yeah, but she was huge. She had been held back.
— And the sun was in your eyes.

— That's what I get for trying to help someone. Oh, no! Well, that's my payment, I guess. That... That is my reward.
— Life is just.
— Just? Just get a clue!

— We'll apologize the day a monkey comes out of my butt. Then you get your «sorry». How about that?
— What a coincidence, because that's today.

— You must be Bruce. I've been expecting you.
— This is hilarious. So you're the boss and the electrician and the janitor? Must be a killer Christmas party. Don't get drunk, though. One of you might need a ride home.

— Bill, you've been running the Maid of the Mist for 23 years now. Tell me. Why do you think I didn't get the anchor job?
— Hey, man. I don't want problems.
— Is it my hair, Bill? Are my teeth not white enough? Or like the great falls, is the bedrock of my life eroding beneath me?!

Oh, you're done now. Great. B-E-A-utiful. Come on. Let's go back inside and have a shit.

— Grace?
— No. it's Debbie, the sister whose life you're not wasting.

— Oh, that's great, Sam, but you missed your target. I'm over here!
— Don't get mad at the dog. It's not the dog's fault.
— No. it's God's fault.