Pistonhead Cenobite: Relax, baby. This is better than sex.
Pinhead: Complete the pattern, solve the puzzle, turn the key.
Pinhead: Now, can we talk sensibly?
Pinhead: If you have a quality, be proud of it. Let it define you, whatever it is.
Pinhead: Hell has no furies for a woman scorned.
Female Cop: Shit! Gasoline.
Pinhead: Thou shall not bow down before any graven image.
Joey: Oh, Doc. No.
Camerahead Cenobite: Have you seen what he did to me, you little bitch? Have you seen?
J.P. Monroe: Jesus Christ.
Pinhead: Not quite.
Pinhead: Unbearable, isn't it? The suffering of strangers, the agony of friends. There is a secret song at the center of the world, Joey, and its sound is like razors through flesh.
Joey: I don't believe you.
Pinhead: Oh come, you can hear its faint echo right now. I'm here to turn up the volume. To press the stinking face of humanity into the dark blood of its own secret heart.
Pinhead: There is no good, Monroe. There is no evil. There is only flesh.