"Cahill spends the entire film bringing a sense of wonder to the desperately rational Ian, and if the film takes on a glow toward the end, that glow feels well-earned."

"Big ideas can sometimes lead to great motion pictures or, as in the case of I Origins, colossal misfires. A wannabe examination of faith versus science, Mike Cahill's follow-up to Another Earth fails to provide convincing dramatization of his thematic thesis."

"Every living person on this planet has their own unique pair of eyes. Each their own universe."

"I want you to burn me."

"I'm not religious. … Religion is based on scripture written by men thousands of years ago. Those beliefs can't be changed or challenged. They're fixed."

"To me, the best thing about living like a lab rat is that sometimes, really rare times, you actually discover something."

"Cremation is like obliteration. I mean, what if, in the future, the scientists—what if they can reconstitute our selves through our D. N. A.?"

"Turning over a rock and finding nothing is progress."

"Michael Pitt — Ian Gray"

"When I was a child, I realised that the camera was designed exactly like the human eye, taking in light through a lens, forming it into images. I began taking as many pictures of eyes as I possibly could."

"You ever feel like when you met someone, they fill this hole inside of you, and then when they're gone, you feel that space painfully vacant?"

"There is someone there with Sofi's exact iris pattern. The eyes and the brain are connected. If—if the cellular structure in the eye is reoccurring from person to person, then maybe something in the brain carries over as well, like a neurological link. Maybe the eye really is some kind of window to the soul."

"Melissa Benoist - Nicole"

"Austin Stowell - Ryan"

"Jayson Blair - Travis"

"Kavita Patil - Sophie"

"[playing an audio clip of a trumpet solo for the band] Six years ago, I came across a kid in a practice room working on his scales. He was early second year and he'd started at Shaffer with a lot of hope. Like all you guys. But the truth was, he barely squeaked in to begin with, and, uh... he was really struggling. The faculty were all telling him, "Maybe this isn't for you." But they didn't see what I saw. This scared, skinny kid, cursing himself because he couldn't get his scales right. I saw a drive in him. And I put him in Studio Band. And when he graduated, Marsalis made him third trumpet at Lincoln Center. A year later, he was first. And that's who you're listening to now. His name was Sean Casey. I found out this morning that... Sean... died yesterday... in a car accident. And, uh, I just... I wanted you guys to know he was a beautiful player. I just thought you should know."

"Listen up, cocksuckers! Hurry the fuck up. Get your music. "Irene" only. Set one. Rhythm section out first. Tanner, the kit is a fucking tonal catastrophe, get it in tune, all right? Rhythm and soloists, bar 45, we're gonna pick up the tempo there, all right? Bar 106, brass, do not forget we sharp that ninth. Everybody remember, Lincoln Center and its ilk use these competitions to decide who they are interested in and who they are not. And I am not gonna have my reputation in that department tarnished by a bunch of fucking limp-dick, sour-note, flatter-than-their-girlfriends, flexible-tempo dipshits. Got it? One more thing. Eugene, give me that. [Eugene hands Fletcher his music folder] If I ever see another one of these lying around, I swear to fucking God, I will stop being so polite. [to a stagehand who just walked in] Get the fuck out of my sight before I demolish you. [to band] Stage right, in order, now. [to stagehand] I can still fucking see you, Mini-Me!"

"Sorry guys, hate to put you through this. If you need to fuckin' take a dump, or get a coffee, whatever - now might be a good time, because we're gonna stay here until I find a drummer who can fucking play in time. I apologize to the musicians. Seriously, take ten, twenty, a fucking hour. [to drummers] You hear me, cocksuckers? You better start shitting me perfect four-hundreds. Connolly, get your fucking ass back on the kit!"

"[Repeated line] Not quite my tempo."

"Michael Cohen - Stagehand Dunellen"

"You think I'm fucking stupid? I know it was you."

"Miles Teller - Andrew Neiman"

"Paul Reiser - Jim Neiman"

"And here comes Mister Gay Pride of the Upper West Side himself. Unfortunately, this is not a Bette Midler concert, we will not be serving Cosmopolitans and Baked Alaska, so just play faster than you give fucking hand jobs, will you please? One, two, one, two. [Carl starts drumming, Fletcher stops him] Not even fucking close. [to Ryan] Let's go, with the Irish Mick-fucking-Paddy cracker now. You know, you actually do look quite a bit like a leprechaun. I think I'm gonna start calling you Flannery."

"[after Andrew stops drumming] Is that really the fastest you can play, you worthless Hymie fuck? No wonder mommy ran out on you. Get off the fucking kit."

"It's all good, no worries, here we go."

"We've got a squeaker today, people. Neiman. 19 years old. Isn't he cute?"

"Either you're deliberately out of tune and sabotaging my band, or you don't know you're out of tune, which, I'm afraid, is even worse."

"Barker, that is not your boyfriend's dick. Do not come early."

"Chris Mulkey - Uncle Frank"

"Neiman, you earned the part. Alternates, will you clean the blood off my drum set?"

"J. K. Simmons - Terence Fletcher"

"Kofi Siriboe - Greg"

"Hey Max. Remember from before when we did sex to each other?"

""Max, I love you. I'm having your abortion. Do you wanna share a dessert?" Lead with that. Definitely lead with that. Perfect. That's perfect."

"Marilyn Barbarin - Cabaret singer"

"Kaliana Brower - T-Lou"

"Nicholas Clark - Sticks"

"Lowell Landes - Walrus"

"Henry D. Coleman - Peter T"

"Jonshel Alexander - Joy Strong"

"I'm your daddy, and it's my job to take care of you, OK?"