Paul Edgecomb: On the day of my judgment, when I stand before God, and He asks me why did I kill one of his true miracles, what am I gonna say? That it was my job? My job?
John Coffey: You tell God the Father it was a kindness you done. I know you hurtin' and worryin', I can feel it on you, but you oughta quit on it now. Because I want it over and done. I do. I'm tired, boss. Tired of bein' on the road, lonely as a sparrow in the rain. Tired of not ever having me a buddy to be with, or tell me where we's coming from or going to, or why. Mostly I'm tired of people being ugly to each other. I'm tired of all the pain I feel and hear in the world everyday. There's too much of it. It's like pieces of glass in my head all the time. Can you understand?
Paul Edgecomb: Yes, John. I think I can.
Marion Petrocell: The Kingdom of God is inside you, and all around you, not in buildings of wood and stone. Split a piece of wood and I am there; lift a stone and you will find me.
Evelyn: You were actually at Hamunaptra?
Rick: Yeah, I was there.
Evelyn: You swear?
Rick: Every damn day.
Bethany: I don't want this, it's too big.
Metatron: That's what Jesus said. Yes, I had to tell him. And you can imagine how that hurt the Father - not to be able to tell the Son Himself because one word from His lips would destroy the boy's frail human form? So I was forced to deliver the news to a scared child who wanted nothing more than to play with other children. I had to tell this little boy that He was God's only Son, and that it meant a life of persecution and eventual crucifixion at the hands of the very people He came to enlighten and redeem. He begged me to take it back, as if I could. He begged me to make it all not true. And I'll let you in on something, Bethany, this is something I've never told anyone before... If I had the power, I would have.
Ceniza: Even Hell has its heroes, señor.
George Little: Maybe we should go home.
Mr. Little: Why?
George Little: I'm not wearing my lucky underwear.
Mr. Little: You don't have lucky underwear.
George Little: Well, maybe we should get some, and then come back for another race.
Hamm: Where did you get the cool belt, Buzz?
Buzz Lightyear #2: Well, slotted pig, these are standard issue.
Buliwyf: Lo, there do I see my father. 'Lo, there do I see.
Herger the Joyous: My mother, and my sisters, and my brothers.
Buliwyf: Lo, there do I see.
Herger the Joyous: The line of my people.
Edgtho the Silent: Back to the beginning.
Weath the Musician: Lo, they do call to me.
Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan: They bid me take my place among them.
Buliwyf: In the halls of Valhalla.
Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan: Where the brave.
Herger the Joyous: May live.
Ahmed Ibn Fahdlan: ...Forever.
Ichabod Crane: Villainy wears many masks, none so dangerous as the mask of virtue.
Qui-Gon Jinn: You must have Jedi reflexes if you race pods.
[Jar Jar tries to grab a piece of fruit with his tounge, but Qui-Gon catches it.]
Qui-Gon Jinn: Don't do that again.
The Warlock: A child of the caul, born of witch's blood. You'll be sacrificed and as your blood runs, I'll raise from the pits of Hell a woman, a consort who will mother a race of evil the world has never seen. It is my purpose, my destiny, and yours.
Pnub: Don't you watch the news?
Anton: I hate that fucking show.
The Shoveller: God's given me a gift. I shovel well. I shovel very well.
Amanda Shelton: My friend Nolan told me this thing about men and sex, that they think about it 238 times a day and when they do they adjust their belts.
Tom Bartlett: That's ridiculous, no, no, not the belt - I meant the amount. That's ridiculous. Do the math I'm awake maybe 17 hours a day. Times 60 would be 1020, divided by 238, that would be sex about every 4 minutes... yeah, yeah, that's about right.
Amanda Shelton: I've been here 20 minutes.
Frances Bacon McCausland: Nobody knew who was responsible, but everybody needed someone to blame.
The Ghost of Christmas Present: You should have accepted Fred's invitation to dine.
Mr. Ebenezer Scrooge: What?
The Ghost of Christmas Present: For Fran's sake, if not for yours.
Rachel Lang: Please. Don't leave me. I don't have anyone. Please, God... let me die.
Bottom the Weaver: Since lion vile hath here deflowered my dear.
Peter Quince: Devoured.
Titus: O handle not the theme, to talk of hands, Lest we remember still, that we have none.
Dr. Lester: I've been very lonely in my isolated tower of indecipherable speech.