Sheriff J. P. Harrah: What the hell are you doin' here?
Cole: I'm lookin' at a tin star with a... drunk pinned on it.
Man With No Name: The way I figure, there's really not too much future with a sawed-off runt like you.
Sir Thomas More: You threaten like a dockside bully.
Cromwell: How should I threaten?
Sir Thomas More: Like a minister of state. With justice.
Cromwell: Oh, justice is what you're threatened with.
Sir Thomas More: Then I am not threatened.
J.W. Grant: You bastard.
Rico: Yes sir. In my case an accident of birth. But you, you're a self-made man.
Luther Heggs: Calm? Do "murder" and "calm" go together? Calm and murder? Murder?
Linus: Never jump into a pile of leaves with a wet sucker.
Kettering: No confirmation, no claim. That's a squadron rule.
Bruno Stachel: But I saw it! It was a kill.
Kettering: Then, you have the deep satisfaction of knowing you have served the Fatherland.
Wireless Operator: A test message from the Proteus, sir. Miss Peterson has smiled.
Col. Donald Reid: Well, that's an auspicious sign.
Det Sgt. Bung: A young lady has disappeared and we're anxious to trace her whereabouts.
Dr. Watt: Oh? Whereabouts?
Det Sgt. Bung: Hereabouts.
Albert: At ten o'clock.
Det Sgt. Bung: Or thereabouts.
Constable Slobotham: In this vicinity.
Det Sgt. Bung: Or roundabouts.
Constable Slobotham: We're police officers.
Albert: Or layabouts.
Narrator: "Pooh-pooh to the Whos" he was grinchily humming.
The Grinch: They're finding out now that no Christmas is coming. They're just waking up, I know just what they'll do. Their mouths will hang open a minute or two. Then the Whos down in Whoville will all cry "booo-hooo."
Duc De Pommfrit: Come here, you little vixen.
Desiree Dubarry: Oh, get off! Stop it.
Guy Montag: Tell me, this uncle of yours, did he ever tell you not to talk to strangers?
Clarisse: No, he did say once if anyone asked how old I was to say I was 20 and light in the head. They always seem to go together.
Guy Montag: Light in the head?
Clarisse: Mm-hmm, loopy, crazy.
Nicole Bonnet: I can't drive a stolen car.
Simon Dermott: Same principle, four gears forward, one reverse.
George: Martha, in my mind you're buried in cement right up to the neck. No, up to the nose, it's much quieter.
Po-han: Dead stim.
Christine Easton: I don't know why you wanted a room, you spend all of your time outside.
Cook: Water! Thirsty! Sick man.
Nataniele: I sure never thought I'd end up grave-digging and not even getting paid for it, either. Anyhow, it's better to be above ground doing that than below ground doing nothing.