Detective Remy Bressant: I planted evidence on a guy once, back in '95. We were paying $100 an eight-ball to snitches. We got a call from our pal, Ray Likanski. He couldn't find enough guys to rat out. Anyway, he tells us there's a guy pumping up in an apartment up in Columbia Point. We go in, me and Nicky. Fifteen years ago, when Nicky went in, it was no joke. So it's a... it's a stash house, right? The old lady's beat to shit, the husband's mean, cracked out, trying to give us trouble, Nicky lays him down. We're doing an inventory, but it looks like we messed up because there's no dope in the house, and I go in the back room. Now, this place was a shithole, mind you? Rats, roaches, all over the place. But the kid's room, in the back, was spotless. No, I mean, he swept it, mopped it; it was immaculate. The little boy's sitting on the bed, holding onto his playstation for dear life. There's no expression on his face, tears streaming down. He wants to tell me he just learned his multiplication tables.
Patrick Kenzie: Christ.
Detective Remy Bressant: I mean, the father's got him in this crack den, subsisting on twinkies and ass-whippings, and this little boy just wants someone to tell him that he's doing a good job. You're worried what's Catholic? I mean, kids forgive. Kids don't judge. Kids turn the other cheek. What do they get for it? So I went back out there, I put an ounce of heroin on the living room floor, and I sent the father on a ride, seven to life.
Patrick Kenzie: That's was the right thing?
Detective Remy Bressant: [yelling] Fucking A! You gotta take a side. You molest a child, you beat a child, you're not on my side. If you see me coming, you better run, because I am gonna lay you the fuck down! Easy.
Patrick Kenzie: Don't feel easy.
Detective Remy Bressant: Is the kid better off without his father? Yeah. But okay, I mean, could be out there right now pumping with a gun in his waistband. It's a war, man. Are we winning? No.

Royalty. Nobility. Gentry. How quaint. Even the rabble.


The only person standing in your way is you.

Thomas Leroy

Courtney: Darcy thinks she should get captain 'cause her dad pays for everything.
Whitney: He should use some of that money to buy her a clue.

Gray: [during an Indominus Rex attack] We need more.
Claire: More what?
Gray: We need more teeth.

Johnny Cash: I think it's about time, June.
June Carter: Time for what?
Johnny Cash: For you and me... to get married.
June Carter: Go to sleep, John.

Toshi: But, Mr. Dupree, I don't play baseball. I'm in the orchestra.
Dupree: First, call me Dupree. Second, so what if you're in the orchestra? So was Catfish Hunter.

I'm fine! It turned, I'm green!


Princess Fiona: What are you doing? You know, you should sweep me off my feet out yonder window and down a rope onto your valiant steed.
Shrek: You've had a lot of time to plan this, haven't you?

You hit me. Look don't make me participate in your stupid crap if you don't like the way I do it. You make me get out of bed, you make me come over here. You make me make a phony phone call to Edward Rooney? The man could squash my nuts into oblivion. And-and-and then, and then, you deliberately hurt my feelings.


Elephants: Hut, two, three, four. Hut, two, three, four.
Shere Khan: What beastly luck! Confound that ridiculous Colonel Hathi!

Marty DiBergi: David St. Hubbins... I must admit I've never heard anybody with that name.
David St. Hubbins: It's an unusual name, well, he was an unusual saint, he's not a very well known saint.
Marty DiBergi: Oh, there actually is, uh... there was a Saint Hubbins?
David St. Hubbins: That's right, yes.
Marty DiBergi: What was he the saint of?
David St. Hubbins: He was the patron saint of quality footwear.

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