If you're going to choose an alias, don't pick the same pseudonym Odysseus used to fight Polyphemus. Not in a town filled with classicists.
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Free love. In my experience, that's the most expensive kind there is.
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Any man finds a measure of happiness, it's got to be a good thing.
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The further a man runs away from his nature, the sooner it'll find him out.
-So what does that make me?
A good detective. And a poor policeman.
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What did they say at your checkup?
-They said I'm fine.
You didn't go, did you?
-Don't you start.

Are you OK? Bit of a shock?
-That's life in a blue suit.
Police... Seems an unexpected choice for someone like yourself.
-What is someone like myself?
I don't know. Bright, I suppose.
-What are bright girls supposed to do - marry well?
Oh, I... I just meant it can be a pretty grim kind of a calling.
-Maybe I like grim.
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So what did the policeman want?
-Someone I know slightly, she's gone missing.
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Rank's not about brains. It's about playing the game. Or not, in your case. You rub people up the wrong way.
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Confirmed bachelor, according to the college. 50-odd. The only birds he had any interest in are the feathered sort.
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I am conducting a study into the neurobiology of chemical communication in mammals. A dog, for example, cocks its leg against a lamppost. We're looking at the composition of what it leaves behind, what chemical information might be contained in such material.

I always thought you'd end up in some cushy number, clerical. Nine to five. Somewhere where you could wear a clean shirt every day.
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Beast of Binsey, sir. It's a local legend amongst the County boys. Sheep savaged, else disappeared. It's usually on a full moon.
-Or a full bladder.
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It's funny, there's... never enough time to say the... the things you mean to, that you should.
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Tells a good tale, your man. I'll give him that.
-If Mr. Bright said that's how it happened, that's how it happened.
What, him? You've only got to look at him. One sniff of a man-eater, he'd be hiding under his desk.
-You clearly don't know Mr. Bright.
I know a man who's all hat and no cattle when I see one.
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There are no bad men, Thursday, only bad officers.
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What Philip heard him say wasn't man-eater, it was "manita", which is Spanish for "little sister".

You ever think of picking up your degree?
-No. Like innocence and hope for mankind, I number it now amongst the lost things.
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you had that same look on your face the first time I ever saw you.
-What look's that?
Nervous. Shy. Hopeful.
-Yes, I suppose I was. All of those things. Frightened, mostly, that's my abiding memory.
Of what?
-Of being found out.
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You came in, sat down just there and said...
-"I've just seen an angel crossing Carfax. This brown-eyed blonde, with the reddest lips you ever saw."
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I can go in my bed, with posterity gathered solemn round. Or I can go standing toe-to-toe with you.
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I told you. I don't like liars. But I hate a grass!
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Look, let's get one thing straight, matey. You don't tell me, I tell you. All right? If the job calls for brains, you'll be first in the queue. Something like this? Leave it to those who've got the sand.

There was a box in the boot of his car filled with... stag films.
-Nature studies?
Not an antler in sight, I'm afraid.
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That was all a ruse. Intended to lead me up the garden path, which it did.
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Never bet against a man with nothing to lose.
-Oh, you've got something to lose, all right. I'm looking at her, right now.
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He was the first man who ever looked at me as if I was something more than just a good time. I'd do it all again. Without a second thought.
-Love, Morse. Imagine that.
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Memory lane:
There are coppers and there are coppers. What sort are you?
-The sort that sees young ladies safely home.
I think this is the bit where I say, "Thanks for a lovely evening." And we have a long kiss under the porch light, until my dad taps on the window and then I go in and you go home. Love, I suppose. You don't know until you meet the right one.