Susan Vance: He said that David was an old, old friend of his, that he'd been working very, very hard in town and that he was on the point of having a nervous breakdown.
David Huxley: Oh, and I'm a nut from Brazil!

Fred Derry: You know what it'll be, don't you, Peggy? It may take us years to get anywhere. We'll have no money, no decent place to live. We'll have to work, get kicked around.

Dr. Alex Brulov: There's lots of happiness in working hard. Maybe the most.

Secretary of Labor: The Department of Labor wishes to note that the workers of Freedonia are demanding shorter hours.
Rufus T. Firefly: Very well, we'll give them shorter hours. We'll start by cutting their lunch hour to 20 minutes.

Clarence: Clarence Oddbody, AS2.
George Bailey: Oddbody... Hey, what's an AS2?
Clarence: Angel, Second Class.
[the bridgekeeper, overhearing it, falls backwards in his chair]

Terry: Yeah his racket, everybody's got a racket.

Eliza Doolittle: I sold flowers; I didn't sell myself. Now you've made a lady of me, I'm not fit to sell anything else.

Peggy Stephenson: Well, what have you been doing with yourself lately?
Fred Derry: Working.
Peggy Stephenson: Yes, Dad told me he heard you were in some kind of building work.
Fred Derry: Well, that's a hopeful way of putting it. I'm really in the junk business - an occupation for which many people feel I'm well-qualified by temperament and training.

Adam Cook: I'm a concert pianist. That's a pretentious way of saying I'm... unemployed at the moment.

Margo Channing: Funny business, a woman's career - the things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster. You forget you'll need them again when you get back to being a woman. That's one career all females have in common, whether we like it or not: being a woman. Sooner or later, we've got to work at it, no matter how many other careers we've had or wanted. And in the last analysis, nothing's any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed, and there he is. Without that, you're not a woman. You're something with a French provincial office or a book full of clippings, but you're not a woman. Slow curtain, the end.