George: What is it you want, Mary? What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso around it and pull it down. Hey. That’s a pretty good idea. I’ll give you the moon, Mary.

Mary: I’ll take it. Then what?

George: Well, then you could swallow it, and it’d all dissolve, see? And the moonbeams’d shoot out of your fingers and your toes, and the ends of your hair… Am I talking too much?