Archie Moses: This is a '70s porno. You know how I can tell? Because the guy's dick has sideburns.
Vanessa: Ho-ly shit! Well look who got beaten with the ugly stick. Bob, is that you? My God, I can't believe such an itty bitty gun could make such a big mess out of someone! You are so ugly Bob! Oh and hey I heard you have one of those poop bags where the shit comes out the side, you're just a big old shitbag aren't you Bob! I hope you think of me every time you shit in that thing, motherfucker!
Romeo: Why then, O brawling love, O loving hate, O anything, of nothing first create! O heavy lightness, serious vanity, Misshapen chaos of well-seeming forms, Feather of lead, bright smoke, cold fire, sick health, Still-waking sleep, that is not what it is!
Paul Castellano: Johnny's problem is that he's a street Neapolitan, huh? Always scheming. Worse than the Sicilians.
Brandi Web: You know, a man just comes along and he buys us off a shelf. Then he plays. Plays with us until he thinks we're no longer fun. Or until he gets us all dirty, right? Then he just wants to throw us away.
Samantha: You thinking what I'm thinking?
Hennessey: I hope not, coz I'm thinking about how much my balls hurt.
Ashe: Do you know what they call a gathering of crows, Curve? A murder. A murder of crows. Think about it.
Loc Dog: Well, I can see how a pretty little woman like yourself can make a man a little sick - I mean, nervous.
Bill Clinton: In recognition of your great service, I'm appointing you honorary agents in the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms.
Butt-head: Whoa. Alcohol and tobacco?
Beavis: Yeah. And firearms! Yeah.
Bill Clinton: Cool, huh?
Butt-head: Cigarettes and beer kick ass.
Beavis: Yeah, yeah. We're in the bureau of beer and fire and cigarettes. And maybe some chicks, too.
Jake Tyler Brigance: There ain't nothin' more dangerous in this world than a fool with a cause.
Robert Doob: What are you gonna do? Shoot me?
Karen McCann: You broke into my house with the intent to do me bodily harm. The law says I have the right to protect myself.
Robert Doob: What? You want me to say I'm sorry? It could have been anybody. I don't even remember what she looked like. It's nothing personal.
Karen McCann: She was seventeen years old. She was five-foot two. She had brown eyes. Her name was Julie. She was my daughter.
Robert Doob: She was a great f-f-f-fuck.
Hamlet: Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio - a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a thousand times, and now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung these lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were won't to set the table on a roar?