Jamesir Bensonmum: She murdered herself in her sleep, sir.
Dick Charleston: You mean suicide?
Jamesir Bensonmum: Oh no, it was murder, all right. Mrs. Twain hated herself.
Grover Muldoon: How come you whities got such a tight ass, man?
Margaret White: Carrie, you haven't touched your apple cake.
Carrie: It gives me pimples, Mama.
Margaret White: Pimples are the Lord's way of chastising you.
Janeway: All right, you guys! Let's go! Move out of there.
Melendez: Blow it out your ass, motherfucker.
Harry Callahan: A 357 magnum is a good weapon, but I've seen 38's bounce off windshieds. No good in a city like this.
Leigh: The very least of our problems is that we're out of time.
Wilson: It's an old story with me. I was born out of time.
Jack Prescott: There is a girl out there who might be running for her life from some gigantic turned-on ape.
Rynn: How old do you have to be before people start treating you like a person?
Ben Bradlee: All non-denial denials. They doubt our ancestry, but they don't say the story isn't accurate.
Lucy: Are you a doctor?
Al: Yeah, how'd you know?
Lucy: Dirty shoes and clean white hands.
Al: A lot of guys have clean hands.
Lucy: But not that clean. It must have taken you ten years at least to get them that clean.
Al: What are you, a commercial or what?
Sherlock Holmes: No, Watson! The Queen wouldn't like it.
Nicole Dressler: Oh, what is it all about?
Dr. Jonathan Chamberlain: I'd say a slight case of, uh...food poisoning.
Nicole Dressler: I think either you're a lousy doctor or a lousy liar.
Blanche: You're a fink.
George: If I'm a fink then you're an ungrateful bitch.
Detective Cranston: She is a weird little girl. Did you notice her tits? When I put the tube around her she looked at me, like she wanted me to feel her up.