Holly Golightly: Mag Wildwood. She's a model, believe it or not, and a thumping bore.

Holly Golightly: Oh, golly gee damn!

Holly Golightly: Promise me one thing: don't take me home until I'm drunk - very drunk indeed.

Holly Golightly: There you are, you sneak!

Holly Golightly: Thursday! It can't be! It's too gruesome!
Paul Varjak: What's so gruesome about Thursday?
Holly Golightly: Nothing, except I can never remember when it's coming up.

Holly Golightly: Timber!

Holly Golightly: We're alike, me and cat. A couple of poor nameless slobs.

Holly Golightly: What do you do, anyway?
Paul Varjak: I'm a writer, I guess.
Holly Golightly: You guess? Don't you know?
Paul Varjak: OK, positive statement. Ringing affirmative. I'm a writer.

Holly Golightly: You could always tell what kind of a person a man thinks you are by the earrings he gives you. I must say, the mind reels.

Holly Golightly: You know those days when you get the mean reds?
Paul Varjak: The mean reds, you mean like the blues?
Holly Golightly: No. The blues are because you're getting fat and maybe it's been raining too long, you're just sad that's all. The mean reds are horrible. Suddenly you're afraid and you don't know what you're afraid of. Do you ever get that feeling?
Paul Varjak: Sure.
Holly Golightly: Well, when I get it the only thing that does any good is to jump in a cab and go to Tiffany's. Calms me down right away. The quietness and the proud look of it; nothing very bad could happen to you there. If I could find a real-life place that'd make me feel like Tiffany's, then - then I'd buy some furniture and give the cat a name!