Daria

Jake: But I like going over my will, it's got all that money!

Daria: This is an extra assignment, just for me. A punishment for being smart.

(Daria's story) Miss Daria: Mr. Lane's temperament, outlook, indeed his very manners are such as to arouse bemusement rather than endearment in the object of his attentions. Miss Quinn: Huh? Miss Daria: He's flaky.

Daria: I've written a lot of stuff, but it's not up to my standards. And that disturbs me, because I don't have standards.

Helen: Daria, do you have to look at everything in such a negative light? Daria: Could you possibly be referring to the harsh light of reality?

Jane: Wow. Well listen, now that you've got such a great attitude and everything, can I have your boots? Daria: Yeah, turn around and I'll give you one right now.

Daria: It's not very good, is it? Helen: (tearfully) Oh, Daria... Daria: It wasn't that bad. (Helen sobs and embraces Daria) Daria: Stop, stop! This isn't a story, it's real life!

(Daria's story) Quinn: You know where Grandma's TV is. Go watch something educational. (kids scamper into living room) Sick Sad World Announcer: Breast implants for chickens... Quinn and Daria: Not that!

(Daria's story) Daria: Mom... you know I'm not ready for kids. The whole idea makes me uneasy and I'm not sure why. (Quinn enters with children) Girl: Give me that! Boy: No, it's mine! Girl: Mommy! Daria: Oh, yeah. Now I remember.

Daria: When the hell did you learn so much about me? Helen: It's a funny thing, Daria. You give birth to someone, you just get an urge to keep tabs on them.

Helen: Daria? Daria, the TV's not on. Daria: Shh! I'm watching this.

Jane: Let me get this straight: you're telling me you want to write something, not just anything, that says something about something. Daria: Right. Jane: Gee. Who'd ever believe you're having trouble communicating.

(Daria's story) Daria: Shouldn't we comfort her or something? Jake: (laughs) Oh, let her go. Helen: She'll get over it. Daria: We should at least tell her about that eight-lane highway they built outside the house during the night. Jake: Hmm... you may be right. (cars collide outside) Helen: That can't be good. (more cars collide) Quinn: Ow! God!

Daria: How can you talk to me about Quinn? She'll never have this kind of problem. It involves thinking. You make me tell you what's wrong, in between calls, and then you bring up Quinn? Don't you know me at all? (leaves)

(Daria's story) Miss Daria: Dear sister, I would hope that whoever does become Lady Lane does so out of regard for Mr. Lane and not for his estate. Miss Quinn: What about his car? Miss Daria: Hmm...

Daria: I mean, if I were going to write about mating rituals, I think I'd go back a couple hundred years, when women either married or shriveled up and blew away. Jane: Instead of marrying and then shriveling up, like they do now?

(Daria's story) Minister: And do you, Kevin, take this pulchritudinous woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? Jane: (muffled) Kevin! Kevin: I, uh... what did you say? Minister: I said, do you, Kevin, assume legal responsibility for this overripe specimen of femalehood standing next to you? The one in white, son!

Mr. O'Neill: Well, why don't you write a story taking people you know in real life and turning them into fictional characters? Daria: I wonder if anyone would notice a difference.

Kevin: People who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones. I got one, babe. I got one! (Mr. O'Neill begins sobbing)

Jane: What's the problem? Take people you know and have them do whatever you want. I'd make them crawl, I tell you. Crawl! Daria: Easy, tiger.

Mr. O'Neill: So, what Gardner is telling us is that the writer of fiction has a duty that goes beyond the mere telling of a story. His or her job is to tell a story in such a way as to leave the reader...what, Kevin? Kevin: Screaming for more full-contact martial arts excitement? Mr. O'Neill: (sighs) Daria? Daria: I believe Mr. Gartner feels it's the writer's duty to steer the reader towards more conscientious behavior, no matter how dull that makes the story.

Daria: Let's see... nobody talked to me again this week, I wasn't invited to any parties for the weekend, and I think I'm getting one of those really painful cold sores. So all in all, another great week.

Helen: Reading something? Daria: Yes. Helen: May I ask what it is? Daria: It's a book. For school. About how fiction should do more than just entertain. Helen: That sounds interesting. Daria: Yeah. A writer writing a book about how writers should write books. Must have been a huge seller.