Pappas: Listen you snot-nose little shit, I was takin' shrapnel in Khe Sanh when you were crappin' in your hands and rubbin' it on your face.
Jake La Motta: Who's an animal? Your mother's an animal, ya son of a bitch.
Bobby Boucher: Now that's what I call high quality H2O.
Coach Morris Buttermaker: What if he tries something?
Amanda Whurlitzer: I'll handle it.
Coach Morris Buttermaker: Rolling Stones, 11 years old.
Amanda Whurlitzer: I know an 11-year-old girl who is already on the pill.
Coach Morris Buttermaker: Don't ever say that word again.
Amanda Whurlitzer: Jesus! Just who in the heck you think you are?
Coach Morris Buttermaker: The goddamned manager, that's who.
Amanda Whurlitzer: Big wow.
Gabriel Caine: Roy... what you did tonight... couldn't be done.
Honey Roy Palmer: Now you motivate me.
Tess Harding: Sam, why can't we sit down like adults and patch this thing up?
Sam Craig: I'm afraid that might become a habit. Then we'd wind up with a patchwork quilt for a marriage.
Bartholomew: No player is greater than the game itself. Its a significant game, in a number of ways, the velocities of the ball, the awful physics of the track, and in the middle of it all: men - playing by an odd set of rules. Its not a game man is supposed to grow strong in, Jonathan. You appreciate that, don't you?
Team Evil Coach Hung: Those American drugs work better than expected.
Jim Braddock: I have to believe that when things are bad I can change them.
Maggie Peyton: What's really your problem with me racing?
Ray Peyton Sr.: 'Cause you're the spittin' image of your mom... and... I can't lose her twice.
Kurt Sloane: Watch your wallet.
Eric Sloane: She doesn't want my wallet. She wants to make it with the champ.