Mary: You really wanna know what Norman's like?
Warren Toomey: Yeah.
Mary: Better than you'll ever be, fat boy.
Jack Ridley: Put the spurs to her, Chuck.
Sailor: Boy, you usin' that oriental martial bullshit on me's gonna get real expensive.
Joel Goodson: Looks like the University of Illinois.
Townsman: I thought all this money would make me feel different.
Arnie Cunningham: Okay... show me.
Steff: You're not God, Nickerson. You're just a typing teacher.
Ross Webster: Congratulations, Gus, old buddy. You're going to go down in history as the man who killed Superman.
Doorman: Are you expected?
Tony Manero: To do what?
Clifford Skridlow: Nothing can destroy the Doctor.
Nigel Pennington-Smythe: What are you doing?
Illya Kuryakin: Trying to get an explosive cap out of my boot heel, so I can blast the pipe apart so we can get out of here.
Nigel Pennington-Smythe: Why would they put the explosive cap in your shoe? You'll never get it with us hanging by these handcuffs from the pipe. You'd think somebody would have thought of a better spot to put it.
Illya Kuryakin: Well, that's progress I guess?
Rusty James: What do you think California's like? Like all that shit in the movies. Blondes walkin' around, The Beach Boys, palm trees, the ocean. How was the ocean?
The Motorcycle Boy: I didn't get to the ocean.
Rusty James: No?
The Motorcycle Boy: California got in the way.
Rusty James: California got in the way? I thought California was on the coast.
Man in Bar: Come on, damnit, we wanna hear a cluck.
Stroker Ace: Who gives a cluck?
Diane: Slater is a dying breed. When she goes the whole species will be extinct.
Dr. Frank Bryant: Found a culture, have you Rita? Found a better song to sing? No, you found a different song to sing, and on your lips it's shrill and hollow and tuneless.
Greg Stillson: My God! What a glorious day.
Sonny Elliman: Amen.
Col. F.E. Cochrane: You threatening me, Murphy?
Frank Murphy: No, I'm telling you. Back off.
Little Enos: I'd like to kick your ass.
Buford T. Justice: You can't kick that high, cricket crotch.
Randy: That techno-rock you guys listen to is gutless.
M: Remember, 007, you're on your own.
James Bond: Well, thank you, sir. That's a great comfort.