Thomas Rogers: Never in my life have I been accused of any crime, sir - and if that's what you think of me, I shan't serve any dinner.
Dr. Edward G. Armstrong: We all build islands of imagination. Represents escape. Half of my patients are sick because they're trying to escape reality.
Judge Francis J. Quinncannon: Well, and what's your answer?
Dr. Edward G. Armstrong: Oh, I tell them fairytales. I build them islands of imagined security.
Judge Francis J. Quinncannon: Don't you believe in medicine, Doctor?
Dr. Edward G. Armstrong: Do you believe in justice, Judge?
Dr. Edward G. Armstrong: Maybe we've been wrong, built up a nightmare out of imagination.
Judge Francis J. Quinncannon: Two people dead isn't imagination.
Judge Francis J. Quinncannon: Mr. Owen could only come to the island in one way. It's perfectly clear. Mr. Owen is one of us.
Detective William Henry Blore: I know who took the dining room key.
Philip Lombard: Who?
Detective William Henry Blore: Rogers! He had the key to the dining room, fact. He unlocks the door, takes a little Indian, goes out and chops up some sticks, fact. And then.
Philip Lombard: And then he takes the chopper, and splits his own cranium, fact. I'd like to see you do that to yourself, Blore. It would take practice.
Philip Lombard: Mr. Owen's hand is plain to see.
Judge Francis J. Quinncannon: Yes, but where the devil is Mr. Owen himself?
Detective William Henry Blore: Nobody in the general's room, not even the general.
Emily Brent: If I had a butler like Rogers, I'd soon get rid of him.
Judge Francis J. Quincannon: Don't forget the old proverb, Doctor. Never trust a man who doesn't drink.
Detective William Henry Blore: Sounds like the Bible. Great book.
Philip Lombard: Hello puss, looking for a mouse? So are we.
Judge Francis J. Quinncannon: What I'd like to know is if we're the cat, or the mouse.
