Molière

Elmire Jourdain:
[to Moli?re/Poquelin] Mr. Tartuffe, I understood long ago that men of the Church are for the most part mere actors, who endlessly repeat the same lines, with more or less conviction.

M. Jourdain:
Your father said you studied law?

Thomas:
Trade law, to be exact.

M. Jourdain:
What a fine idea! I wanted a son to bequeath my business to.

Thomas:
How is business?

M. Jourdain:
I can't complain.

Thomas:
You're wrong. Our laws are reprehensible. Business in France is impossible. But I have concrete ideas on ways to increase profits.

Dorante:
Thomas, I fear this conversation could lead to boredom.

M. Jourdain:
Not at all. Not at all. Please continue.

Thomas:
For example, did you know you could save on labor costs by setting up shop in Spain, where people earn four times less?

Dorante:
[rolling his eyes] In Spain! And why not China?

Elmire Jourdain:
Unhappiness has comic aspects one should never underestimate

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin:
How could I joke about that which makes me weep? This type of comedy does not exist.

Elmire Jourdain:
Well, then... invent it.

C?lim?ne:
What angel sent you to make us laugh like this? We're so dreadfully starved for entertainment.

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin:
What, madame? I thought the greatest minds jostled their way in here.

C?lim?ne:
If you knew what we endured. It's often a draw between boredom and the grotesque. People jostle, yes, only to declare their unwanted passion. Like that poor Mr. Jourdain.

Jean-Baptiste Poquelin:
Mr. Jourdain, you say?

C?lim?ne:
Imagine a farmyard rooster, disguised as a pheasant, sputtering rhymes in my face a child of eight would no longer dare read. You see my predicament. Then the oaf gazes stupidly at me hoping to be loved in return. As if I could possibly be interested in every uncouth merchant and farmer who aspires to become a marquis.

M. Jourdain:
[revealing himself after having been disguised as a woman in the background] How right you are, Madame. How clever your mind is at unmasking our weaknesses. The truth be told, I admire you. I thought it was your intelligence that made you an exceptional being. I realize now it's only your upbringing that gives you style for your soul is entirely devoted to cruelty. You amuse your suite with jokes about those who are absent. But I say it is an insult to your beauty, your intelligence, and your rank that you're incapable of stating what you truly think to one's face. You used the donkey as an example: an animal that waits until you're not looking to kick you. I shall go now, Madame, and leave you to bray about me in my absence.