Top 100 Quotes From The Banshees of Inisherin

Pádraic: What the hell was he hittin' you with?
Dominic: A kettle was the final thing. I wouldn't minded, but for the spout.

- Here.
- Ye two, ye'll be all right.
- Will we be?

Siobhan: What do you need from him, Colm? To end all this?
Colm: Silence, Siobhan. Just silence.
Siobhan: One more silent man on Inisherin, good-oh! Silence it is, so.
Colm: This isn't about Inisherin. It's about one boring man leaving another man alone, that's all.
Siobhan: One boring man! You're all fucking boring! With your piddling grievances over nothin'! You're all fucking boring! I'll see he doesn't talk to you no more.
Colm: Do. Else it'll be all four of them the next time, not just the one.
Siobhan: You're not serious. Well, that won't help your fecking music.
Colm: Aye. We're gettin' somewhere now.
Siobhan: I think you might be ill, Colm.

- There's enough judgy people on this fecking island, so no!
- You're not dim! You're a nice man, all right? So, move on!
- I'm as clever as you, anyways.
- I know that at least.
- Yeah, don't be fecking stupid.
- Huh?

- Oh, hello there, colm.
- Will I see you at jonjo's tonight for that pint you owe me?
- I owe you no pin...
- You will, peadar.
- Good man yourself.

- Maybe bad news he's had?
- Daddy?
- No, colmsonnylarry.
- Didn't I tell ya I'd be off if you went whining about that lummox one more time?
- I tell ya, it didn't look like he had bad news tonight.
- It looked like a weight was lifted from his shoulders tonight.

- Mrs. Mccormick's comin' over later, padraic. I couldn't avoid her.
- I don't know if you're gonna be in or out, but you're usually out.
- You are. Yeah, you know you are.
- I don't care, Siobhan.
- This is your house, too.

- And / miss ya.
- And / hope ill see ya again someday.
- If you ever come back home.
- Come back home, Siobhan.
- Yours sincerely, your loving brother...
- Padraic sui/leabhain.

Priest: Do you think God gives a damn about miniature donkeys, Colm?
Colm: I fear he doesn't. And I fear that's where it's all gone wrong.

[Softly] How's he seem?
- Grand, I think. With me, anyways.

[Falters] With all me heart,
- I'll say sorry.
- Just stop running away from me like some fool of a moody schoolchild.
- But you didn't say anything to me.
- And you didn't do anything to me.
- That's what I was thinking, like.
- I just don't like you no more.

Colm: Niceness doesn't last.

Pádraic: It's about your daddy.
Declan: What about Daddy?
Pádraic: Uh, bread van crashed into him.
Declan: The bread van?
Pádraic: Yeah. They said you'd best hurry home to him, lest he should die all alone.
Declan: Die?
Pádraic: Or get worse, all alone.
Declan: This is impossible.
Pádraic: It's not impossible. Bread vans crash into people all the time.
Declan: I know! That's how me mammy died. If it's the same fecking bread van, I'll kill them.

Siobhan: Dear Padraic, I am safely ensconced in the mainland and, Padraic, it's lovely here. There's a river running past my window as I write, and the people already seem less bitter and mental. I'm not sure why, but I think it's 'cause a lot of them are from Spain. Mostly, I wanted to say there's a spare bed here for you, Padraic. And with the war almost over, I think there'd be work for ya here. Because there's nothing for you on Inisherin. Nothing but more bleakness and grudges and loneliness and spite and the slow passing of time until death. And sure, you can do that anywhere. So come, Padraic. Leave there.

Jonjo: I don't think you're dull. And jeez, if I was to cut something off meself for every dull person that came in here, I'd only have me head left.

- Whoa, stand.
- Stand.

Colm: Ah, well, I suppose niceness doesn't last then, does it, Padraic? But will I tell ya something that does last?
Pádraic: What? And don't say somethin' stupid like music.
Colm: Music lasts.
Pádraic: Knew it!
Colm: And paintings last. And poetry lasts.
Pádraic: So does niceness.
Colm: Do you know who we remember for how nice they was in the 17th century?
Pádraic: Who?
Colm: Absolutely no one. Yet we all remember the music of the time. Everyone, to a man, knows Mozart's name.
Pádraic: Well, I don't, so there goes that theory. And anyway, we're talkin' about niceness. Not what's his name. My mammy, she was nice. I remember her. And my daddy, he was nice. I remember him. And my sister, she's nice. I'll remember her. Forever I'll remember her.
Colm: And who else will?
Pádraic: Who else will what?
Pádraic: Remember Siobhan and your niceness? No one will. In 50 years' time, no one will remember any of us. Yet the music of a man who lived two centuries ago...
Pádraic: "Yet" he says, like he's English.
Siobhan: Come home, Padraic.
Pádraic: I don't give a feck about Mozart. Or Borvoven. Or any of them funny name feckers. I'm Pádraic Súilleabháin. And I'm nice.

- But you don't care who's executin' who?
- For six Bob and a free lunch,
- I don't care!
- They could be executin' you. [Chuckles]
- Why don't you come with me?
- You could write a miserable feckin' song about it.
- Nah, I'm only messin'.

- Still, he was in a bad way when I came upon him.
- I'd beat him with a kettle meself if I wasn't old.
- It's news is all I'm sayin'.
- That's no news. That's shite news.
- Okay, so, Mrs. O'riordan, thanks for the...
- I'll see ya when I see ya.

Pádraic: [bursting into Colm's house] How are ya, fatty? Dancing with your dog, is it? Well who else is gonna dance with ya? Your poor dog has no say in the matter. And if you're too rude to be offering me a seat, I'll be taking one of me own accord!
Pádraic: [sits] How's that for an old hello?
Colm: Have you gone fecking mental?
Pádraic: Have I gone fecking mental? No I haven't gone fecking mental. Not only have I not gone fecking mental, but I have got ten fingers to prove I'm not fecking mental. How many fingers have you got to prove you're not fecking mental?
Colm: Nine fingers.
Pádraic: Nine fingers is the epitome of mental.

Pádraic: Do you know what you used to be?
Colm: No, what did I used to be?
Pádraic: Nice! You used to be nice! And now, do you know what you are? Not nice.
Colm: Ah, well, I suppose niceness doesn't last then, does it?

- I don't want to talk.
- Don't go killin' his dog now.
- And don't be puttin' things in me head that weren't there in the first feckin' place, you feckin' nutbag!
[Chuckling] "Nutbag!"

Pádraic: It was all going fine until he chopped off all his fingers.

- He won't be botherin' you no more.
- That's a shame.
- That's the most interesting he's ever been.
- I think I like him again now.
- It was the 18th century, anyway. Mozart.
- Not the 17th.

- I just don't think that they scream to portend death anymore.
- I think they just sit back, amused, and observe.
- Portend?
- Yeah.
- I keep having thoughts about playing it for you at your funeral.
- But that wouldn't be fair on either of us, would it?

- What types of things?
- Sisters with no clothes on!
- You saw my daddy with no clothes on.
- And till the day I die,
- I'll wish I hadn't.
- Sure, don't I know it.
- The tiny, brown cock on him.

- Who are them?
- Music students, I think, from lisdoonvarna.
- Another whisky, anyways, jonjo.
- Jeez, you're goin' at it at a fair old lick tonight, padraic.
- Yeah? What's it to ya?

Colm: If you don't stop talkin' to me, and if you don't stop botherin' me, or sendin' your sister or your priest to bother me...
Pádraic: I didn't send me sister to bother you, did I? She has her own mind. Although, I did send the priest though, you have me there.
Colm: What I've decided to do is this. I have a set of shears at home. And each time you bother me from this day on, I'll take those shears and I'll take one of me fingers off with them. And I'll give that finger to ya. A finger from me left hand. Me fiddle hand. And each day you bother me more, another I'll take off and I'll give ya until you see sense enough to stop. Or until I have no fingers left. Does this make things clearer to ya?
Pádraic: Not really, no.
Colm: Because I don't want to hurt your feelings, Padraic. I don't, like. But it feels like the drastic is the only option left open to me.
Pádraic: You've loads of options left open to ya. How's fingers the first port of call?
Colm: Please, don't talk to me no more, Padraic. Please. I'm begging you.
Pádraic: But...
Jonjo: Shush, like, Padraic. Just, you know, shush, like.
Gerry: Yeah, I'd shush, like.
Pádraic: I will shush. Except me and me sister were thinking, you might just be a bit depressed, Colm. And I tell you this much, fingers just confirms it. Don't you think, Colm?
Colm: Starting from now.

Colm: So, let's just call it quits and agree to go our separate ways, for good this time.
Pádraic: Your fat fingers killed me little donkey today. So, no, we won't call it quits. We'll call it the start.
Colm: You're jokin' me.
Pádraic: Yeah, no. I'm not jokin' ya. So tomorrow, Sunday, God's day, around 2:00, I'm going to call up to your house and I'm gonna set fire to it, and hopefully you'll still be inside it. But I won't be checkin' either way. Just be sure and leave your dog outside. I've nothing against that gom. Or you can do whatever's in your power to stop me. To our graves we're taking this. To one of our graves, anyways.

- Padraic: In other news, in sadder news, actually,
- I won't be able to ask Dominic anything, I'm afraid.
- Because they found him in the lake this morning.
- I suppose he must'i/e sl/pped and fell in.
- So, there'd be no one to take care of the animals, anyway.

- Self-mutilation, so you have me there.
- Multiplied by five.
- How's the despair?
- It's back a bit.
- But you're not gonna do anything about it?
- I'm not gonna do anything about it, no.

Mrs. McCormick: A death shall come to Inisherin afore the month is out.
Pádraic: A death, huh?
Mrs. McCormick: Maybe even two deaths.
Pádraic: Well, that'd be sad.
Mrs. McCormick: We shall pray to the Lord 'tis neither you, nor poor Siobhan, will be either of them.
Pádraic: Well, is that a nice thing to be sayin'?
Mrs. McCormick: I wasn't trying to be nice. I was trying to be accurate.

Colm: I was too harsh yesterday.
Pádraic: Yesterday, he says! I know well you was too harsh yesterday.
Colm: I just... I just have this tremendous sense of time slipping away on me, Padraic. And I think I need to spend the time I have left thinking and composing. Just trying not to listen to any more of the dull things you have to say for yourself. But I am sorry about it. I am, like.
Pádraic: Are you dying?
Colm: No, I'm not dying.
Pádraic: But then you have loads of time.
Colm: For chatting?
Pádraic: Aye.
Colm: For aimless chatting?
Pádraic: Not for aimless chatting. For good, normal chatting.
Colm: So we'll keep aimlessly chatting and my life will keep on dwindling. And in 12 years, I'll die with nothin' to show for it, bar the chats I've had with a limited man, is that it?
Pádraic: I said, "not aimless chatting" I said "Good, normal chatting."
Colm: The other night, two hours, you spent talking to me about the things you found in your little donkey's shite that day. Two hours, Padraic. I timed it.
Pádraic: Well it wasn't me little donkey's shite, was it? It was me pony's shite. Which shows how much you were listenin'.
Colm: None of it helps me. Do you understand? None of it helps me.
Pádraic: [after Colm leaves] We'll just talk about something else, then!

- What are ya doing?
- I don't know.
- For fuck's sake, like.
- How... how's the new tune?
- What?

- Yeah, well, it can't all be you, you, you, can it?
- Yes, it can.
- There's two of us in this.
- No, there isn't.
- It takes two to tango.
- I don't want to tango.
- Well, you danced with your dog.

Peadar: Aye. Off to the mainland in the morning I'm headin'. That's why I need the clean shirt, like. 'And why are you off to the mainland in the mornin', Peadar?' Oh, thanks for asking, Colm. I'll tell ya why. They've asked for extra manpower for a couple of the executions in case there's any kind of a to-do, like. Six bob and a free lunch they're payin' me. And sure I'd have gone for nothin'. I've always wanted to see an execution, haven't you? Although, I'd have preferred a hanging.
Colm: Who are they executin'?
Peadar: The Free State lads are executin' a couple of the IRA lads. Or is it the other way around? I find it hard to follow these days. Wasn't it so much easier when we was all on the same side, and it was just the English we was killin'? I think it was. I preferred it.
Colm: But you don't care who's executin' who?
Peadar: For six bob and a free lunch, I don't care! They could be executin' you. Why don't you come with me? You could write a miserable feckin' song about it. Nah, I'm only messin'.

- You do like me.
- Idont but you liked me yesterday.
- Oh, did I, yeah?
- I thought you did.

- What are we now?
- April.
- Well, put that stick outside anyways, and don't be bothering the women.
- There's women?
- There is women.
- And good ones.

- Well, that's great that you finished your tune, colm.
- That's more than great.
- That's...
- Really great.

- Hut!
- Siob han: So come now, padraic, please.
- Before it's all too late.

- Ajob offer, is it?
- A job offer from a library on the mainland, is it?
- Just the rashers, please,
- Mrs. O'riordan. About ten of them.
- You never tell me anything!
- Well, it'd crucify him, your leaving!
- Hey, no one's leaving!

- I just don't have a place for dullness in me life anymore.
- But you live on an island off the coast of Ireland, colm.
- What the hell are you hoping for, like?
- For a bit of peace, Siobhan. That's all.
- For a bit of peace in me heart, like.
- You can understand that. Can't ya?

- And he's gone off me now, too.
- What kind of a place is it when the village gom goes off ya?
- And who's gonna do the cookin'?
- Oh, that's your first question, isn't it? "Who's gonna do the cookin'?"
- Well, it wasn't me first question, was it?
- "But what about me?"
- Was me first question.

- Well, you've failed on both counts, haven't ya?
- I have.
- I'm off to bed and he's not stayin' here another night, padraic.
- I don't care how depressed you are.
- I'd rather have the donkey in.
- Foiled again.
- But "faint heart" and all that.

- Do you think?
- Do I think? Yeah, I do think!
- He's cut his feckin' finger off, and thrown it at ya!
- Come on! It wasn't at me.
- Well, what are we going to do?
- We can't keep a man's finger.

Pádraic: I think.
Jonjo: Ah, you don't, Padraic.
Gerry: You don't, Padraic.
Jonjo: Your sister does.
Gerry: Your sister does, aye. Siobhan does.
Jonjo: You're more of a...
Gerry: You're more of a... What is he?
Jonjo: You're more one of life's good guys.
Gerry: You're more one of life's good guys, aye. Apart from when you're drunk.
Jonjo: Apart from when you're drunk, aye.
Pádraic: I used to think that'd be a nice thing to be. One of life's good guys. And now, it sounds like the worst thing I ever heard.
Jonjo: Ah, don't take it like that, Padraic.
Gerry: Don't take it like that, Padraic. We're on your side.

Pádraic: So you'd rather be friends with this fella, would ya? A fella who beats his own son black and blue every night that's he's not fiddling with him.
Dominic: I never told him that, daddy. He's just drunk now.

- like, "faint heart" and that.
- Well, there goes that dream.
- Well,
- I best go over there and do whatever that thing over there
- I was gonna do was.
- Mm-hmm.

- Colm?
- The door was open, colm.
- Colm?

- But could I stay the night with ye the night?
- Just for the one night, like?
- Siobhan: Mm...
- Well, just the one night, mind.
- Nice! I'll see ye for supper, so.
[Chuckles] Whoo-hoo!

Mrs. O'Riordan: Letter came for ya.
Siobhan: Fell open, did it?
Mrs. O'Riordan: Aye, in the heat, I suppose.

Siobhan: You can't just all of a sudden stop being friends with a fella!
Colm: Why can't I?
Siobhan: Why can't ya? Because it isn't nice.

[last lines]
Colm: Pádraic. Thanks for lookin' after me dog for me, anyways.
Pádraic: Anytime.

- Huh?
- Like what else could you be doin'?
- Reading.
- Reading, yeah?
- Me, this morning...
- This I wrote.

Dominic: Shh. Daddy'll kill us if we wake him when he's been wanking.

Priest: Wouldn't you say punching a policeman is a sin?
Colm: Ah here. If punching a policeman is a sin, we may as well just pack up and go home.

Pádraic: What's your tune called?
Colm: The Banshees of Inisherin, I think.
Pádraic: But, there are no banshees on Inisherin.
Colm: I know, I just like the double S-H sounds.

- I think you might be ill, colm.
- Do worry sometimes
- I'm just entertaining meself while I stave off the inevitable.
- Don't you?
- No, I don't.
- Yeah, you do.

Dominic: I used to think you were the nicest of them. Turns out you're just the same as them.
Pádraic: I am the nicest of them.

- I used to think that'd be a nice thing to be.
- One of life's good guys.
- And now, it sounds like the worst thing I ever heard.
- Ah, don't take it like that, padraic.
- Don't take it like that, padraic.
- We're on your side.

- Will I try him again?
- That'd be the best thing.
- Officer kearney.
- Never says "hello."
- Never fecking says "hello."
- Colm?

- Huh?
- Uh... but I have me pint there, colm.
- He has his pint there, colm, from when he came in and ordered his pint before.
- Okay.
- I'll sit somewhere else, so.

- I've a bone to pick with you, dreary.
- Is that little gobshite of mine at your place again?
- Leave him, peadar.
- His donkey's just died.
- Did he?
- The little miniature fella?
- Well, Jesus, boys,
- I'll tell ya this much...

- Even now as / write, little donkey Jenny is looking at me, saying,
- ”please don't go, padraic.
- I/I/e 'd miss ya. ”
- And nuzzling me, the gil/y-goo/y.
- Get of Jenny
- Mrs. Mccormick: Psst!

- Turns out you're just the same as them.
- I am the nicest of them.
- Ar, Dominic, now!
- Well, maybe I'm not a happy lad, so!
- Maybe this is the new me!
- Maybe this is the new me.

Pádraic: I am not putting me donkey outside when I'm sad, okay?

- This is a depressing house.
- Would you prefer your own, so?
- I've heard it's a barrel of fecking laughs.
- Well, touché.
- Too what?
- Che. Touche. It's from the French.

- What's the matter?
- Nothing.

[Whispering] What's that, Jenny?
- Will we go to the pub for ourselves?
- We will. Come on.

Colm: If punching a policeman is a sin, we may as well just pack up and go home.

- This is impossible.
- It's not impossible.
- Bread vans crash into people all the time.
- I know!
- That's how me mammy died.
- If it's the same fecking bread Van,
- I'll kill them.

- that he's not fiddling with him.
- I never told him that, daddy.
- He's... he's just drunk now.
- You used to be nice.
- Or did you never used to be?
- Oh, god.
- Maybe you never used to be.

- And I'm not forgiving you any of these things until the next time, so I'm not!
- Well, I better not be dying in the meantime then, eh, father?
- I'll be pure fucked!
- You will be pure fucked!
- Yes, you will be pure fucked!

- which wouldn't have been there if I'd spent the week listening to your bollocks, padraic suilleabhain.
- So, do you want to take your pint outside, or do you want me to take my pint outside?
- I'll take my pint outside,
- 'cause it's a shite tune anyways,
- I wouldn't bother with it.

Gerry: Are you rowing?
Pádraic: I didn't think we were rowing.
Gerry: Well, you are rowing.
Jonjo: Well, you are rowing. He's sitting outside on his own like a whatchamacallit.
Pádraic: It does look like we're rowing.

- Suppose me house makes us quits.
- If you'd stayed in your house, that would've made us quits.
- But you didn't, did ya, so it doesn't, does it?
- I'm sorry about your donkey, padraic.
- Honestly, I am.
- I don't fucking care.

- They're all I have, really.
- Apart from the obvious.
- You'll be back soon, won't you, Siobhan?
[Cries] Oh, padraic!
- Don't say, "oh, padraic."
- Say yes.

- Never get what?
[Sighs] Lonely.
- Do I never get lonely?
- What's the matter with everybody?
- Jesus.
- "Lonely." fecking hell.

Pádraic: You used to be nice. Or did you never used to be? Oh, God. Maybe you never used to be.

- Shh.
[Whispers] Daddy'll kill us if we wake him when he's been wanking.

Priest: I do not have impure thoughts about men. And how dare you say that about a man of the cloth?

Pádraic: Well, don't ask a man to call up to ya at your fecking house, so, like he has nothing better to do with his fecking time.
Colm: I didn't ask you to call up to me at me house. And you do have nothing better to do with your fecking time.
Pádraic: Huh?
Colm: You do have nothing better to do with your fecking time.
Pádraic: I know I've nothing better to do with me fecking time, but there's better things I could be doing with me fecking time than to be calling up to ya at your house, Colm Doherty!
Colm: Like what?
Pádraic: Huh?
Colm: Like what else could you be doin'?
Pádraic: Reading.
Colm: Reading, yeah? Me, this morning... this I wrote. Tomorrow, I'll write the second part of it. And the day after, I'll write the third part of it. And by Wednesday, there'll be a new tune in the world, which wouldn't have been there if I'd spent the week listening to your bollocks, Padraic Suilleabhain. So, do you want to take your pint outside, or do you want me to take my pint outside?
Pádraic: I'll take my pint outside, 'cause it's a shite tune anyways, I wouldn't bother with it.

Pádraic: We haven't been rowing. I don't think we've been rowing. Have we been rowing?

Dominic: Me, I pay no attention to wars. I'm again' 'em. Wars and soap.

- Here, amn't I in enough trouble with him without your mouthing?
- What trouble in are you in with him?
- Uh, hejust...
- Doesn't want to be friends with me no more.
- What is he, 12?
- Why does he not want to be friends with you no more?

Priest: It isn't him you have the impure thoughts about, is it?
Colm: Are you joking me? I mean, are you fecking joking me?
Priest: People do have impure thoughts about men, too.
Colm: Do you have impure thoughts about men, Father?
Priest: I do not have impure thoughts about men. And how dare you say that about a man of the cloth?
Colm: Well, you started it.
Priest: Well, you can get out of my confessional right now, so you can. And I'm not forgiving you any of these things until the next time, so I'm not!
Colm: Well, I better not be dying in the meantime then, eh, Father? I'll be pure fecked!
Priest: You will be pure fecked! Yes, you will be pure fecked!

- Well, stringy bits of shite
- I had to pick up yesterday when ya let her in!
- There was no stringy bits in that donkey's shite.
- There was bits of straw, if there was anything.
- Maybe it was straw, so.
[Sighs] I'll get us our porridge.

Dominic: Was you never wild?
Siobhan: Wild? Was I never wild? I don't know what you're talking about, Dominic. Wild how? Angry?
Dominic: Not angry. Wild
Siobhan: You just keep saying wild, Dominic!

- And you can tell that skitter of a son of mine he'd better be home by teatime, or it's over to batter the both of ye I'll be, and your dreary fecking sister, too!

Colm: I do worry sometimes I might just be entertaining myself while staving off the inevitable.

- I'm not throwing his finger out!
- It'll get dirt on it!
- Where... where'd you put it?
- Shoebox.
- Oh, my. Oh, god.
- Well, he's serious, then.

- Colm?
- Are you coming out to the pub, colm?
- It's 2:00, like.
- Will I see you down there, so?
- I'll see you down there, so.

- Well, I will so.
- Jeez, that went well!
- And maybe on the way,
- I can find that student friend of yours, that Declan fella!
- I told him his daddy was dying, so he'd feck off home and leave us alone, but there's no need now!
- Sure he could join us.

Priest: It's an island, Colm. Word gets around.

- What are you doin' here?
- Was the pub closed?
- No, it was open.
- Anything in the paper?
- Just the civil war still.
- Ugh.
- A bad do.

- Was I awful last night?
- No, you was lovely.
- Well, I know I wasn't lovely now, Siobhan. [Chuckles]
- You were lovely. About me, anyways.
- Of course I was lovely about you.
- What else is there to be about ya?

Pádraic: They don't think I'm dim or anything?
Siobhan: Dim? No.
Pádraic: You don't seem very sure about it.
Siobhan: Of course, I'm sure about it.
Pádraic: Dominic's the dim one on the island, isn't he?
Siobhan: He is, aye. By miles.
Pádraic: Uh, hang on, by miles. And then, who's the next dimmest?
Siobhan: Well, I don't like to judge people in those terms now, do I?
Pádraic: In what terms?
Siobhan: In order of their dimness.
Pádraic: Well, I know you don't. And neither do I, do I? But try, like.
Siobhan: No! I won't try. There's enough judgy people on this fecking island, so no! You're not dim! You're a nice man, all right? So, move on!
Pádraic: I'm as clever as you, anyways. I know that at least.
Siobhan: Yeah, don't be fucking stupid.

Pádraic: There's two of us in this!
Colm: No, there isn't!
Pádraic: It takes two to tango.
Colm: I don't want to tango.
Pádraic: You were dancing with your dog...

- and loneliness and spite and the slow passing of time until death.
- And sure, you can do that anywhere.
- So come, padraic. Leave there.
- Dominic can look after Jenny and the rest of your animals.
- They could mo I/e into the house together.

Priest: How's the despair?