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Macaulay Connor: A magnificence that comes out of your eyes, in your voice, in the way you stand there, in the way you walk. You’re lit from within, Tracy. You’ve got fires banked down in you, hearth-fires and holocausts. 
Tracy Lord: I don’t seem to you made of bronze? 
Macaulay Connor: No, you’re made out of flesh and blood. That’s the blank, unholy surprise of it. You’re the golden girl, Tracy. Full of life and warmth and delight. What goes on? You’ve got tears in your eyes. 
Tracy Lord: Shut up, shut up. Oh, Mike. Keep talking, keep talking. Talk, will you? 

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