Cor, Blimey!

Barbara Windsor:
I think heaven's being left alone with a Steinbeck in the edit suite. You sit in front of your life and you're allowed to re-edit it. Cut the rotten bits, loop the sex, montage the good moments. Live it over and over, a bit better every time. And eventually, make it perfect.

Sally:
It's true, isn't it?

Sid James:
What about?

Sally:
You.

Sid James:
Every word, especially the rumours.

Kenneth Williams:
[about Barbara Windsor in Carry on Spying] I wouldn't confide this to a reprobate like you, were it not bound to frustrate you beyond all reason, but she was a good enough kisser to give me the half hard.

Sid James:
You're joking?

Kenneth Williams:
Mmmm. The perverse pneumatics of desire never cease to astonish. Hasn't happened to me since Jim Dale went down the stairs on that hospital trolley.

Sid James:
[about Ronnie Knight, Barbara's first husband] He knocks about with the Krays, doesn't he?

Barbara Windsor:
No he doesn't. I do.

Kenneth Williams:
Garbo was shot through a gauze, you know. I should be shot through a gauze.

Sid James:
You should be shot through a blanket.

Kenneth Williams:
You should be shot then wrapped in one.

Sid James:
Take my advice, don't get married. Find someone you don't like and buy them a house.

Barbara Windsor:
Ronnie was married before. He was married when I met him. I was with him nine months before I found out. He was working us in shifts.

Sid James:
This is the man you're going to marry?

Barbara Windsor:
He won't mess around again.

Sid James:
A leopard cannot change its spots.

Barbara Windsor:
No, but it can have its balls cut off.

Kenneth Williams:
Thank god my ego's not hostage to my gonads. Women exist for me to b*tch with or to b*tch about or to b*tch about with, not to satisfy an addled libido.

Sid James:
Shut up, ya poofter.

Kenneth Williams:
You have to work at a marriage.

Barbara Windsor:
I might have had a decent marriage if I hadn't had a lousy honeymoon.

Kenneth Williams:
Wasn't my fault you had a lousy honeymoon.

Kenneth Williams:
And how do you know I had a lousy honeymoon?

Kenneth Williams:
I was there.

Barbara Windsor:
Precisely!

Kenneth Williams:
This bloody script is just one long relentless stream of badly written jokes cobbled together with disdain for the actors and complete contempt for the audience. One of the most morally and aesthetically offensive pieces of work I think I've ever read. I think I'll just camp it up.

Barbara Windsor:
That's what I admire about you, Kenny. Always searching for an original approach.

Kenneth Williams:
I turned on International Cabaret last night and heard canned laughter. They'd smothered me in canned laughter, and I recognised it. It's the same tape the use for all the sitcoms. They use it on Bless This House. You can actually recognise individual morons cackling away like the living dead. I realised with some horror they could well have been laughing at Sid. Didn't know who to feel sorrier for, them or me. The mindlessly guffawing away through eternity or me. Slogging my guts out for laughs that weren't even mine.

Sid James:
I'm an actor, mate.

Kenneth Williams:
You're a cheap vaudevillian. Whereas I am a clasically trained thespian. I've worked with Orson Welles.

Sid James:
So have I.

Kenneth Williams:
I've played Shakespeare.

Sid James:
Well, so have I.

Kenneth Williams:
I have read a book. [Sid looks down at his feet] I have sat on the steps of the Colosseum and debated the nature of man with Sophocles, I have. [Kenneth farts]

Barbara Windsor:
Kenny!

Sid James:
Bloody hell.

Barbara Windsor:
Honestly! How do you expect to maintain a decent working relationship with people I have no idea.

Kenneth Williams:
Rudolph Valentino was a farter. His leading ladies never complained.

Barbara Windsor:
They were silent films!

Kenneth Williams:
I consider it one of my more singular accomplishments that I can display an uncommon degree of eloquence from both ends... [He farts again]... simultaneously!

Kenneth Williams:
There comes a time in every man's life when he can no longer snog young women without appearing something of a dirty old sod, a benchmark you passed in the late 1950s.

Sid James:
That is charming.

Kenneth Williams:
You've got a very grubby image.

Sid James:
At least I haven't got a grubby Moroccan sex life.

Kenneth Williams:
Oh yes, go on. Throw your little stones from the ruined greenhouse of your own sad lechery. By all means pronounce judgement on diving splinter of my sexual proclivities if you can catch sight of it through the Epping Forest of your own lustful eye.

Sid James:
It's unnatural for a man to fancy other men.

Barbara Windsor:
Kenny doesn't fancy other men, he fancies himself. Other men are just the next best thing.

Kenneth Williams:
Where are we going, then?

Barbara Windsor:
Well there's a small steakhouse in Stanmore where the owner, if she's in the mood, will ply the clientele with so much free booze you get way beyond "depressed". You can get to "f*** it all and the horse it rode in on".