Washburn: Oh man, if you can't fry it, I won't eat it.
Doc: We've been up on that hill ten times, and they still don't think we're serious.
Galvan: We're Airborne. We don't start fights, we finish 'em.
Doc: Brush your teeth in a rapid, vertical motion. That's up and down for all you rebels.
Motown: I smile at my Mamma. Great meal, Ma. Would you please pass the fucking potatoes. The ham is fucking A, Ma. You don't know how... how fucking great it is to be home. How you going to act, huh?
Motown: It don't mean nothing, man. Not a thing.
Worcester: I'm gonna put the new guys in your squad.
Sgt. Frantz: Oh, shit.
Worcester: Hey, don't 'oh shit' me, troop! The old man has me breaking-in another new Lieutenant and he looks like Palmolive-fucking-soap.
Sgt. Frantz: Yeah, well I don't need this f-n-g shit, Worcester.
Worcester: Yeah, well write your Congressman. And while you're at it, tell him I need a steak, a bucket of cold beer and a round-eye to wrap my leg around.
Sgt. Frantz: Who is it?
Doc: How the hell do I know? He's got no goddamn head.
