Peter Quill: I am Star Lord!
Korath the Pursuer: ...who?

  • Permalink: ...who?
  • Rating: Unrated

Limo Driver With Sign: Mr. Barbone? Welcome to L.A., I'm Bobby, your driver. I hope you had a pleasant flight.
Ray "Bones" Barboni: Yeah well, I hope you drive better than you fucking spell, jack-off. My name is Barboni, not Barbone, okay!

You're right! You're not your dad! He could sell a ketchup Popsicle to a woman in white gloves!

Richard Hayden

I am the road warrior.

Max Rockatansky

Virginia 'Pepper' Potts: I thought you were finished making weapons?
Tony Stark: This is a flight stabilizer and it's perfectly harmless.

Carmen: UGGHHHH, Can you get a pizza hangover?
Tibby: It was the olives.
Carmen: Tibby no, it was the bacon.
Tibby: It was the olives.

Capt. Ramsey: You do qualify your remarks. If someone asked me if we should bomb Japan, a simple "Yes." By all means sir, drop that fucker, twice! I don't mean to suggest that you're indecisive, Mr. Hunter. Not at all. Just, uh... complicated. 'course, that's the way the Navy wants you. Me, they wanted simple.
Hunter: Well, you certainly fooled them, sir.

Nigel Tufnel: You can't fucking concentrate because of your fucking wife! Simple as that, alright? It's your fucking wife!
David St. Hubbins: She's not my wife.
Nigel Tufnel: Well whatever FUCK she is, alright? You can't concentrate!

Dina Byrnes: Now Greg, you have a *very* unique last name and Jack and I were wondering how to pronounce it?
Greg Focker: Oh, just like its spelt. F-O-C-K-E-R.
Dina Byrnes: F-Focker.
Jack Byrnes: Hmm, Focker.

Kah Mun Rah: [dramatically] I have come back to life!
Larry Daley: No, I heard that. I got that. Welcome back.

Prime Minister: Right. So, not quite as secret as we'd hoped.
Natalie: Right. What should we do?
Prime Minister: Smile. Give a little bow. Wave.

Vianne Rocher: Would you care to buy something special for your lady friend?
Guillaume Blerot: Lady friend?
Vianne Rocher: Yes, the lovely woman your dog was so fond of.
Guillaume Blerot: Oh, no, I mustn't. Madame Audel is in mourning for her husband.
Vianne Rocher: Oh. I'm sorry. When did he pass away?
Guillaume Blerot: The war. German grenade.
Vianne Rocher: Oh, I see. Well, it's been 15 years since the war, so...
Guillaume Blerot: No, not that war. Monsieur Audel was killed on the 12th January 1917. It was quite a blow to Mme Audel.
Vianne Rocher: Apparently so.

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