Mitchell: He should be dead within thirty seconds. The werewolf heart is about two-thirds the size of a human’s. But in order to shrink, first it has to stop. In other words, he has a heart attack. All the internal organs are smaller. So while he's having his heart attack, he's having liver and kidney failure too. And if he stops screaming, it's not because the pain has dulled—his throat, gullet and vocal chords are tearing and reforming. He literally can't make a sound. By now the pituitary gland should be working overtime, flooding his body with endorphins to ease some of the pain. But that too is shut down. Anyone else would have died of shock long ago, but it won't let him. And that's the pain I find most remarkable. It drags him through the fire and keeps him alive and even conscious to endure every second. Nothing like this could just evolve. Is it the fingerprint of God? An impossible lethal curse spread by tooth and claw. Victim begets victim begets victim. It's so cruel it's... perfect.

George: I manage my condition. I hide in a shitty bloody cellar or in the middle of the forest but you, you buy a bottle of wine and a package of condoms! What is the point of us trying to build some kind of normality when you are attacking our friends and turning them into monsters? For Christ sake, we knew her. You let me go to her bloody memorial.
Mitchell: How the hell do you think I've survived for the last hundred years? There's no escape from it. I'm not like you, I don't have days off. This is what I am.
George: Then why are we even trying?

George: I'd forgotten what they were like, the others. They're predators. Every inch of them is just hunger and fury. The energy it must take him every minute not to be like that.
Annie: Do you think he should have saved her?
George: I think he did.

George: Do you know the difference between you and him?
Mitchell: Hm. I don't know, I don't have to shave my palms?
George: I think that's actually racist!

Annie: You changed your tune. You love old movies.
George: Hey, George is as George does.
Mitchell: Did you really just say that? Did you actually say those words?
Annie: Oh my god. You're Tully's Mini-Me.

Mitchell: I never know with you whether it's Jewish guilt or werewolf guilt.
George: They're pretty much the same thing.

Mitchell: You know what I can't get my head around?
George: Quantum mechanics?

George: That was pathetic! We were like the world's gayest ninjas.

Herrick: How do you think this ends?
George: I don't know. We kiss?

Mitchell: What happened?
George: She attacked me... but I managed to fight her off.
Mitchell: Yeah? You've got lipstick on your mouth.

Daisy: Where are you going? I could tear her throat out!
George: Go for it, but don't imagine it'll make her go away.

Annie: Are you sure about Hugh?
George: I know that look. I've given people that look. Usually while they're giving that look to someone taller.

Mitchell: This is just the short term.
George: And the long term?
Mitchell: I'm gonna help them get off blood. It's the only way, George! I can do this. I can persuade them.
George: Oh, so this is before or after you walk on water?

Annie about Mitchell: What's he done?
George: How far back do you want to go?

Nina: George, you turned me into a werewolf. Taking the moral high ground about anything feels kind of ridiculous.
George: So that's why you're here. You weren't sure I felt guilty enough.

Kemp: In our facility we have a decompression chamber into which we would place you, or Nina, on the night of a transformation. The room is then pressurized to negate the tidal effect of the full moon. The wolf is not allowed to manifest. It becomes weaker. It dies.
George: Does it work?
Kemp: You would be the first.
George: Right. Right. So it's less of an exorcism, it's more like vivisection.

George: You make me nervous. It's like all my senses are telling me you're dangerous.
Lucy: I am.
George: Excuse me?
Lucy: But not to you. They're not your senses. There's a... creature inside of you—I know Kemp calls a demon—but it looks at me through your eyes and it knows what I am going to do.
George: It's funny. Because it feels like it's me.

Mitchell: I'm doing this. I'll take everything they've got. Death, God, the Devil. None of it frightens me.
George: Right. Well, I feel totally reassured.

Mitchell: Five letters. Something-A-something-something-something. The clue is just the letters H-I-J-K-L-M-N-O.
George: Mitchell! {he indicates the dying man.} The answer's water. Yes, it's the letters. H to O. H2O. It's the molecular formula for water.
Mitchell: Get it!
George: Okay, give me another one.

Adam: I think you need a new wingman. I, sir, am a registered poon hound.
George: Have you ever actually had sex, Adam? You know, proper, balls-deep sex? You touched a boob? Be honest with me, Adam. have you ever even touched a boob? Because I have! Loads!

George: Who wants some of my plant!?

Nina: Well I think someone's in denial.
George: How could she not know she's dead?
Mitchell: Solves one mystery anyway. The mortuary's suddenly been off limits.
George: No, that was a chemical leak. Or they were hiding a zombie.