Allie: I'm sorry, Daddy.

John: Is he a rapist?

Allie: No. Like what, mother?

Anne: You are going to stop seeing Noah. She is out fooling around with that boy till 2:00 in the morning and it has got to stop. I didn't spend 17 years of my life raising a daughter and giving her everything... so she could throw it away on a summer romance.

Allie: Daddy, come on!

Anne: She will wind up with her heart broken or pregnant.

John: Anne, please.

Anne: Now, he is a nice boy. He's a nice boy, but he's...

Allie: He's what? He's what? Tell me.

Anne: He is trash, trash, trash... not for you.

Allie: Trash? Don't touch me!

Anne: Now that is enough. You are not to see him anymore. And that's final.

Allie: No, it's not final.

Anne: Yes it is.

Allie: No, it's not final!

Anne: Allie!

Allie: You're not going to tell me who I'm gonna love.

John: Love?

Allie: Yes Daddy, I love him. I love him.

John: He's not suitable for you, baby.

Allie: I love him!

Anne: You are 17 years old, you don't know anything about love.

Allie: Oh, and you do? You don't look at Daddy the way I look at Noah. You don't touch or laugh. You don't play. You don't know anything about love.


Creen que no sabemos y nos juzgan por tener años demás, pero si empezamos a vivir porque culparnos?.