Sir Alexander Dane: [Guy is grinning at Alex] What?
Guy Fleegman: I'm just jazzed about being on the show, man.

Grandfather: It's my considered opinion that you're a bunch of sissies.
John: You're just jealous.
Norm: Leave him alone, Lennon... or I'll tell them all the truth about you.
John: You wouldn't.
Norm: Oh, I would, though.

Marie: Because sooner or later, you remember something good.
Jason Bourne: I do remember something good. All the time.

[to Speed's mother] Your son seems to be interested in only one thing. All he talks about, all he seems capable of thinking about... is automobile racing.

Teacher

So, you a big 100% Cotton fan?

Cotton Weary

Clarissa Vaughn: He came out behind me. He put his hand on my shoulder...”Good morning, Mrs. Dalloway." From then on I've been stuck.
Louis Waters: Stuck?
Clarissa Vaughn: Yep. With the name, I mean.

Gene: Now, we need to make 8 gallons of bug juice by snack hour; do you know where the powder packets are?
Gary: Yeah.
Gene: In the pantry, above the sink, right next to my bottle of dick cream... Uh, wait, forget that last part.
Gary: Did you say dick cream?
Gene: No! I said next to my... stick... team, you know, stick team! Stickball! Go away, leave me alone!

Troy Bolton: Dad, did you ever wanna try something new, but were afraid of what your friends might think?
Jack Bolton: What, you mean like going left? You're doing great!

OK, remember when Paul McCartney wrote the song "Michelle" and then he only wrote the first part, Annie said. And then he gave that part to John Lennon, and he wrote the part that said, "I love you, I love you, I love you." And Annie said that it wouldn't have been the same song without that... and that's why the whole world cried when the Beatles broke up on April 10, 1970.

Sam

[to Oz] You're capable of more than you know...

Glinda

Schmidt: [after Mr. Walters mimicked him mockingly] I don't sound like that.
Mr. Walters: Eric! Close your eyes and tell me who's talking!
Eric Molson: [eyes closed] Ugh, Schmidt bein' a little bitch.

How long could we maintain? I wondered. How long until one of us starts raving and jabbering at this boy? What will he think then? This same lonely desert was the last known home of the Manson family; will he make that grim connection when my attorney starts screaming about bats and huge manta rays coming down on the car? If so, well, we'll just have to cut his head off and bury him somewhere, 'cause it goes without saying that we can't turn him loose. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback Nazi law enforcement agency and they'll run us down like dogs. Jesus, did I say that? Or just think it? Was I talking? Did they hear me?

Raoul Duke

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