Jules Winnfield: Ezekiel 25:17. 'The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish and the tyrannies of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness. For he is truly his brothers' keeper and finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know I am the lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.' Now I've been saying that shit for years, and if you've ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant, I just thought it was a cold blooded thing to say to a mother fucker before I popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this morning that made me think twice. Now I'm thinking it could mean you're the evil man, and I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9mm here is the shepherd, protecting my righteous ass. Or maybe it means that you're the righteous man, and I'm the shepherd, and it's the world that's evil and selfish. Now I'd like that, but you see that shit ain't the truth. The truth is, YOU'RE the weak, and I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm trying, Ringo. I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd.
Jules Winnfield: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Jules Winnfield: What country you from?
Jules Winnfield: What ain't no country I ever heard of. They speak English in What?
Jules Winnfield: ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO-YOU-SPEAK-IT?
Jules Winnfield: Then you know what I'm saying.
Jules Winnfield: Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like.
Brett: What, I-?
Jules Winnfield: [pointing his gun.] Say what again. SAY WHAT AGAIN. I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say what one more goddamn time.
Brett: He's b-b-black.
Jules Winnfield: Go on.
Brett: He's bald.
Jules Winnfield: Does he look like a bitch?
[Jules shoots Brett in shoulder.]
Jules Winnfield: DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH?
Jules Winnfield: Then why you try to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't.
Jules Winnfield: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fuuced by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.
Vincent: Lance! It's Vincent. I'm in big fuckin' trouble, man. I'm coming to your house.
Lance: Whoa. Whoa. Hold your horses, man. What's the problem?
Vincent: I've got this chick, she fuckin' O.D.in' on me!
Lance: Well, don't bring her here! I'm not even fuckin' joking with you, man! Do not be bringing some fucked-up pooh-bah to my house!
Vincent: No choice.
Lance: She's O.D.in'?
Vincent: She's fuckin' dyin' on me, man!
Lance: Okay, then you bite the fuckin' bullet, take her to a hospital and call a lawyer.
Lance: This is not my fuckin' problem, man! You fucked her up, you fuckin' deal with this!
Jimmie: I'm gonna get fuckin' divorced. No marriage counselling, no trial separation, I'm gonna get fuckin' divorced.
Jules: Normally, both your asses would be dead as fucking fried chicken, but you happen to pull this shit while I'm in a transitional period so I don't wanna kill you, I wanna help you. But I can't give you this case, it don't belong to me. Besides, I've already been through too much shit this morning over this case to hand it over to your dumb ass.
Jules Winnfield: You know what they call a quarter pounder with cheese in France?
Jules Winnfield: Tell 'em, Vincent.
Vincent Vega: Royale with cheese.
Jules Winnfield: Royale with Cheese. Ya know why they call them that?
Brett: Because of the metric system?
Jules Winnfield: Check out the big brain on Brett!
Vincent: That's a pretty fucking good milkshake. I don't know if it's worth five dollars but it's pretty fucking good.
Butch: Will you hand me a towel, tulip?
Fabienne: Ah, I like that. I like tulip. Tulip is much better than mongoloid.