Eliot: I don’t want to tell you things are hopeless, but they’re not looking very good, and I hate to see you feeling like this.
Margo: Not gonna feel better. What the hell is wrong with you? You should feel just as upset.
Eliot: Uh, I don’t know. I guess it takes a lot to upset me.
Margo: I think you’re gloriously medicated and in some textbook denial.
Eliot: I’m managing. I’m fine.
Margo: Sure, you’re fine. A monster rode you around for months while he murdered people, and then one of your closest friends died.
Eliot: You know, I don’t remember anything from in there.
Margo: As if that changes a god damn thing.
Eliot: Quentin died, and it hurts, and I don’t really want to talk about it. Everything you have to say you already know, so why?