Detective Rosewood: Police! You're all under arrest!
Sergeant Taggart: You do that again, I'll shoot you myself!

Serge: [taking notice to Axel's interest in the artwork] I see you look at this piece.
Axel Foley: Yeah. I was wondering how much something like this went for.
Serge: One hundred and thirty thousand dollar.
Axel Foley: Get the fuck out of here!
Serge: [laughing] No, I cannot! It's serious! Because it's very important piece.
Axel Foley: Have you ever sold one of these?
Serge: [proudly] Sell it yesterday to a collector.
Axel Foley: Get the fuck out of here!
Serge: No! I'm serious! I sell it myself!

Axel Foley: Is this your car?
Jenny Summers: Oh, no. In Beverly Hills we just take whichever car is closest.

Detective Rosewood: Wow. You know, it says here that by the time the average American is fifty, he's got five pounds of undigested red meat in his bowels.
Sergeant Taggart: Why are you telling me this? What makes you think I have any interest in that at all?
Detective Rosewood: Well, you eat a lot of red meat.

Police Chief Hubbard: You expect me to believe that report?
Lieutenant Bogomil: That's the report I'm filing, sir.

Jenny Summers: Axel!
Victor Maitland: Careful, old boy. You might hit me.

Police! Move and I'll kill you!

Sergeant Taggart

All he asked me to do was drive you out of town. Now I'm gonna screw that up, too.

Detective Rosewood

A heh-heh-heh-heh.

Axel Foley

Sergeant Taggart: [after Axel has just offered him a hotel robe] Nah, that's alright. You keep it as a souvenir.
Axel Foley: I already have three of 'em in my bag.

Detective Rosewood: You know what I keep thinking about? You know the end of Butch Cassidy? Redford and Newman are almost out of ammunition, and the whole Bolivian army is out- out in front of this little hut?
Sergeant Taggart: Billy, I'm gonna make you pay for this.

Now listen to me, my tough little friend. I don't know from under what stone you crawled, or where you get these ridiculous ideas about me, but it seems painfully obvious you haven't the slightest fucking idea who you're dealing with. Now, my advice to you is crawl back to your little stone in Detroit before you get squashed.

Victor Maitland

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