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Bridget: I will not fuck it up again, Mum.
Pamela: Bridget! Language!
Bridget: Sorry. I will not fuck it up again… mother.
Colin: Ciggy?
Bridget: No. No thanks. I’ve given up again.
Colin: Shame. I find them very useful. I take great comfort in the fact that they might kill me before things actually get worse.
Bridget: Friends – they spend years trying to find you a boyfriend, but the moment you get one, they instantly tell you to dump him!
Bridget: I read that you should never go out with someone if you can think of three reasons why you shouldn’t.
Mark: And can you think of three?
Bridget: Yes.
Mark: Which are?
Bridget: First off, I embarrass you. I can’t ski, I can’t ride, I can’t speak Latin , my legs only come up to here, and yes, I will always be just a little bit fat. And you, you fold your underpants before you go to bed!
Mark: No, hang on! That-that can’t be a reason.
Bridget: No, it’s not a reason! But you’re not perfect either! You look down your nose at absolutely everyone, and you’re incapable of doing anything spontaneous or potentially affectionate. It feels like you’re waiting to find someone in the VIP room who’s- who’s so fantastic, just the way she is, that you don’t need to fix her.
Mark: Bridget, this is mad.
Bridget: And perhaps you thought you found her. Do you *want* to marry me?
Mark: Look- I…
Bridget: You see, you can never muster the strength to fight for me.
Bridget: Well, uh… I just wanted to tell Mr. Darcy that I heard what magnificent work he actually did, releasing me from prison. Tiny… tiny misunderstanding to do with an enormous stash of cocaine. And I also wanted to say, since having found out that his girlfriend is actually a lesbian, that I love him. Always have. Always will. And that I’m, you know, available for dates if he should feel so inclined.
Mark: As a matter of fact, I have a question to ask you.
Bridget: Okay. As long as it’s not, “Will you marry me?” … Oh, God… It *is* “Will you marry me?”
Mark: Well, I’m not going to say it now.
Bridget: No, no, no! Just wait!
Mark: The moment’s gone, Bridget.
Bridget: We’ve just come out into the corridor and you say, “I’ve got a question to ask you” and then I don’t say anything! And you say…
Mark: Bridget Jones, will you marry me?
Mark: [answers the phone] Hello?
Bridget: It’s me. Just wondered how you are.
Mark: I’m fine, thanks. Everything alright with you?
Bridget: Fine, though, er, I’ve just had a rather graphic shag flashback. You do have a genuinely gorgeous bottom.
Mark: Right, well, thank you. I’m actually with the Mexican Ambassador just at the moment, and the Head of Amnesty International, and the Under Secretary for Trade and Industry, and you’re on speakerphone.
Bridget: Oh, right.
Daniel: Doesn’t everyone deserve a second chance? Hmm?
Bridget: Except Hitler.
Bridget: You are angry.
Mark: No, I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed.
Bridget: Disappointed? Oh, God, that’s worse than angry.
Mark: I’m just disappointed I can’t take you home this instant.
Bridget: You know, I never really understood why you wanted to date me. It seems so unlikely.
Daniel: Come on, Jones, for God’s sake. You’re sexy. You make me laugh – at you of course, not with you. And you were, incidentally, the best shag I ever had.
Shazzer: You wouldn’t sleep with him?
Bridget Jones: No, of course not. Absolutely not… but he is clever.
Shazzer: Yes?
Bridget: And handsome.
Shazzer: He’s also a dysfunctional, fucked-up, middle-aged lost boy!
Bridget: Well, no one’s perfect.
