Dreyfus once wrote from Devil's Island that he would see the most glorious birds. Many years later in Brittany, he realized they had only been sea gulls... For me, they will always be... glorious birds.
Well, what do you say, Harold? Ah, it's a great life. There's action, adventure, advising, and you'll get a chance to see the war first-hand. And there are plenty of slant-eyed girls. I'll make a man out of you, Harold. You'll travel the world, put on a uniform, and take on a man's job. You'll walk tall, with a glint in your eye and a spring in your step, and the knowledge in your heart that you are working for peace and are serving your country, just like Nathan Hale. Now, that's what this country needs - more Nathan Hales. [He salutes a picture of Nathan Hale] And, Harold, I think I can see a little Nathan Hale in you.
Harold: You hop in any car you want and just drive off?
Maude: Well, not any car. I like to keep a variety. I'm always looking for the new experience.
Harold: Maybe. Nevertheless, I think you're upsetting people. I don't know if that's right.
Maude: Well, if some people get upset because they feel they have a hold on some things, I'm merely acting as a gentle reminder: here today, gone tomorrow, so don't get attached to things. Now, with that in mind, I'm not against collecting stuff...
Maude: That little tree — it's in trouble. Come on. [Harold and Maude walk over to a tree growing through the sidewalk in front of a building.] Look at it. Oh, it's suffocating. Well, it's the smog. You know, people can live with it, but trees — it gives them asthma. They can't breathe. The leaves, look, they’re turning all brown. Harold, we have got to do something about this life.
Maude: We'll transplant it. To the forest.
Harold: You can't do that
Maude: Why not?
Harold: This is public property.
Maude: Well, exactly.
Harold: Do you pray?
Maude: Pray? No. I communicate.
Harold: With God?
Maude: With Life.
Psychiatrist: Tell me, Harold, how many of these, uh, suicides have you performed?
Harold: An accurate number would be difficult to gauge.
Psychiatrist: Well, just give me a rough estimate.
Harold: A rough estimate? I'd say... fifteen.
Harold: That’s a rough estimate.
Psychiatrist: Were they all done for your mother's benefit?
Harold: No. No, I would not say "benefit."
Motorcycle Officer: License, lady?
Maude: I don't have one. I don't believe in them.
Motorcycle Officer: How long you been driving, lady?
Maude: About 45 minutes, wouldn't you say, Harold? We were hoping to start sooner; but, you see, it's rather hard to find a truck.