John Spartan: Brake! Brake! Brake now, you Mickey Mouse-piece of shit!
John Spartan: I'm a seamstress? Oh, that's just great! I come out of cryoprison and I'm Betsy fucking Ross?
Simon Phoenix: What's this? Six of you. Such nice, tiny uniforms. Oh, I'm so scared? What, you guys don't have sarcasm anymore?
Simon Phoenix: We're going to spend a lot of quality time together. See ya, sweetie! Honey! Sugar!
Simon Phoenix: I got passcodes, route to secret underground kingdoms, complete access to the industrial data grid interface, and I don't even know what that shit means.
Simon Phoenix: I'm going to need about five or six more special men. And, I just so happen to have a list. You see, I wouldn't want you to defrost any of those mad dog killer types, you know what I mean? And, none of them mother fuckers from New York. They're...too uptight.
Museum computer: The magnetic accelerator gun, the last produced handheld weapon of this millennium, displaced the flow of neutrons through a non-linear cycloid electromagnetic accumulator.
Simon Phoenix: So, what? It needs batteries? What size?
John Spartan: Look, Huxley, this isn't the Wild West! The Wild West wasn't even the Wild West! Hurting people's not a good thing! Well, sometimes it is.
John Spartan: You're going to regret this for the rest of your life. Both seconds of it.
Chief officer: Damnit John, I'm tired of this "demolition man" shit. You are not supposed to come down here, you are not supposed to arrest Phoenix single-handedly and you are not supposed to blow anything up!
John Spartan: I'm gonna go down there, I'm gonna find Phoenix, and I'm gonna put him in a hurt locker.
John Spartan: Send a maniac to catch a maniac.