Trevor: Look, as delightful as that was, I think there's a kind of horrific misunderstanding going on right here.
Trevor: Don Quixote, who is the inventor of quixotic, which is actually one taco short of a combination platter.
Jackie: How can a guy who think he's Cupid help a guy who thinks he's Don Quixote?
Trevor: This is not 17th century Spain, and I am not your Pancho.
Claire: Of course not, you're Cupid, the god of love.
Trevor: I don't have time to convince people I'm not people I'm not. I have a hard enough time convincing you I am who I am.
Don Quixote: You're too slow. Do not force me to take my fist to you.
Champ: That's right, thou scallion and villain!
Trevor: A scallion is a small onion, sire.
Don Quixote: As are you, Sancho.
Bill: Excuse me, is this the right door to get my head shrunk?
Claire: Actually, I think you want the witch doctor down the hall. Just stop when you hear the chickens squawking.
Trevor: My noddle's been gnawing on something that makes no sense.
Claire: Really? Fixating on the popularity of Irish clog-dancing again?
Claire: A psychologically unstable person is not equipped to form a normal loving relationship.
Trevor: Don't tell me, tell Lisa Marie Presley.
Trevor: It didn't work on me because my name is Cupid, although I'll answer to Eros when travelling in Europe.
Champ: He's very serious. You got to treat him with respect.
Champ: No, don't just say okay, you got to treat him with more respect than... You know what? Treat him like he's a god.
Trevor: Which god?
Champ: A big bad don't-mess-with-me thunderbolt throwin' god.
Trevor: No way, he has this very big no-no against pre-marital belly-bumping. It would do him good to get a little Canterbury tail, but it's against the code.