The trouble with a baby, for writists, is that they take away your useful melancholy, even the energy to invent some.
The whole point of Gen X was, and continues to be, a negation of being forced into Baby Boomerdom against one's will.
Who said I can't wear my Converse With my dress, well baby That's just me!
In the baby’s room The city lights are Milky In the curtains… Breath Gentle as rain, Sleep Quiet as snowflakes
For the first time I feel an inner emotional security. There is reality and dependability. My life revolves around Richard and the baby.
Kee: Dylan. I'll call my baby Dylan. It's a girl's name, too.
Raoul Duke: Madam, sir, baby, child, whatever.
Bellatrix Lestrange: He knows how to play. Itty-bitty-baby-Potter.
Manfred: [to the baby] Hey, hey, does this look like a petting zoo to you?
[last lines] Cid: Where's Joe? Sara: He had to go away, baby.
Frankie Dunn: I think someone should count to 10.
Frankie Dunn: So is Jesus a Demigod? Father Horvak: There are no Demigods, you fucking Pagan!
Maggie Fitzgerald: [in the ambulance] Fly there, drive back.
Danger Barch: Oh, look, I'm Shawrelle! I'm humping the canvas!
Llewelyn Moss: Oh, baby, things happen...
Fabienne: Where's my Honda? Butch: Sorry, baby, but I had to crash that Honda.
Carol Anne: That burned! Diane: Sorry, baby, floor needed more wax.
The Count: Arrhh, Jesus, I don't even like Simon! Fucking cry-baby!
Ed McDonnough: Give me that baby, you warthog from hell!
Joan Jellico, Rosemary's Girlfriend: You dirty stinking secret keeper!
Rosemary Woodhouse: Awful things happen in every apartment house.
