- Nina: It's not gonna work. I have tinnitus. And these lights zigzagging in my eyes. I have a shard of glass in the back of my throat. And that's about all I can feel.
- Nina: These things will stay in his head precisely because I am dead. You're an oil painting that's still wet. Any good memories you slather out will just get mushed in with what happens next. I have no next.
- Nina: We never broke up.
- Rob: You died. I couldn't.
- Nina: Did you want to?
- Rob: No.
- Nina: Well, then.
- Rob: I'm breaking up with you now.
- Nina: You can't.
- Rob: What do you mean? Why not?
- Nina: Because I'm dead.
- Rob: Didn't change you very much, did it?
- Nina: Well, that's sort of the point.
- Rob: Why do you always have to be like this when we row?
- Nina: I'm not being like anything. I'm dead. I'm very literally not being like anything at all.
- Nina: Oblivion would beat this. Would beat lying next to the heat of your heart beating in your little living chest.
- Nina: You don't think this is love, do you, Holly? I mean sure, he's made you feel useful. Every drop of semen that has trickled down your belly has been a splash of sunshine on his grief-stricken brow. But basically you're Florence Nightingale job-sharing with Linda Lovelace.
- Nina: This is what she wanted. This is what darkness is, Holly. Flesh trapped between metal. Metal on bone. Almost makes me nostalgic. Oh, I can almost taste the petrol.