Dirk De Jong: Must a man be an artist to interst you?
Miss Dallas O'Mara: Good Lord, no! I'll probably marry some horny-handed son of toil, and if I do, the horny hands'll win me. I like them with their scars on them. There's something about a man who has fought for it: the look in his eye, the feel of his hands. You haven't a mark on you, Dirk, not a mark. You gave up being an architect because it was an uphill, disheartening job at the time. I don't say you should have kept on. For all I know, you were a terrible architect. But if you had kept on, if you'd loved it enough to keep on fighting and struggling, why that fight would show in your face today--in your eyes, in your whole being.
Dirk De Jong: In the name of Heaven, Dallas, I have...
Miss Dallas O'Mara: I'm not criticizing you, but...but you're all smooth. And I like 'em bumpy.

Dirk De Jong: You're just about the most attractive girl I've ever met
Miss Dallas O'Mara: Very good. Kinda sterotyped, but still effective. Time out while I work up a maidenly blush.
Dirk De Jong: Now this is your last chance. I'm not going to ask you this question any more. How about having dinner with me some night?
Miss Dallas O'Mara: Love to.
Dirk De Jong: When?
Miss Dallas O'Mara: Oh, sometime in the distant future... say, um, tonight.
Dirk De Jong: Perfect. Where would you like to go, the Casino?
Miss Dallas O'Mara: Oh, let's not and say we did. Those upper-crust places make me jitter.
Dirk De Jong: Well, how about Thompson's Lunch?
Miss Dallas O'Mara: Oh, I'm still hunchbacked from sitting in those one-armed chairs. Let's go to a hotel--full of all sorts of people: actors, gamblers, thieves, bootleggers, ladies and...and women. That's my dish.