Cyrus: Can you dig it?!
Boring Prophet: There shall in that time be rumors of things going astray, erm, and there shall be a great confusion as to where things really are, and nobody will really know where lieth those little things with the sort of raffia-work base, that has an attachment. At that time, a friend shall lose his friend's hammer, and the young shall not know where lieth the things possessed by their fathers that their fathers put there only just the night before, about eight o'clock.
Kilgore: I love the smell of napalm in the morning.
Peewee: Nobody fucks with the Baldies.
Abraz: Bullshit. Who sent you here, boy? Did that chickenshit asshole Raphael send you, boy?
Chance the Gardener: No. Mr. Thomas Franklin told me I must leave the old man's house. He's dead, you know.
Abraz: Dead, my ass. You tell that asshole, if he got somethin' to tell me, to get his ass down here himself! You got that, boy?
[The staff of MI6 are watching a large screen that shows Bond and Dr. Goodhead making love in space.]
Minister: My god, what's Bond doing!?
Q: I think he's attempting re-entry, sir.
Rocky Balboa: I just got one thing to say... to my wife at home: Yo, Adrian! I DID IT.
Bull Meechum: I am Santini, the Great Santini.
Bull Meechum: I come from behind the moon, out of the dark, unannounced.
Bull Meechum: Watch out.
Mike: I know you're not going to believe this, but these things were here, right in the garage, and they were going to get me.
Jody: Aww, give me a break, would you?
Mike: They were jumping on the car and making these weird sounds.
Jody: You're sure it wasn't that retarded kid, Timmy, up the street?
Mike: No, it was the same thing that chased me last night.
Lauren King: So what does your father do?
Daniel Michon: He drives.
Lauren King: A truck?
Daniel Michon: No... a taxi.
Lauren King: You shouldn't be embarrassed, it's honest work.
Daniel Michon: Not the way he does it.
Prison Guard: Your painting privileges have been removed.
Doc: Why?
Prison Guard: I don't know.
Berger: Bukowski.
Claude Bukowski: Yes, Sergeant.
Berger: Let's move it out.
Claude Bukowski: Yes, Sergeant.
Berger: Double time, soldier.
Claude Bukowski: Yes, Sergeant.
Claude Bukowski: Sir?
Berger: In the car, soldier.
Claude Bukowski: Yes, Sergeant.
Berger: Are you an asshole, soldier?
Claude Bukowski: No, Sergeant.
Berger: That's too bad, because I am.
Riff Randell: Tom Roberts is so boring his brother is an only child.
V.I.N.CENT: A pint can not hold a quart, Mr. Pizer. If it holds the pint. It's doing the best it can.
Wendall: I'm gonna get me a bottle of tequila and find me one of them Keno girls that can suck the chrome off a trailer hitch and just kinda kick back.