Memphis: Roger, I have a problem...
Roger the Car Salesman: Yes?
Memphis: I've been in L.A. for three months now. I have money, I have taste. But I'm not on anybody's "A" list, and Saturday night is the loneliest night for the week for me.
Roger the Car Salesman: Well, a Ferrari would certainly change that.
Memphis: Perhaps, Mmmm. But, you know, this is the one. Yes, yes yes... I saw three of these parked outside the local Starbucks this morning, which tells me only one thing. There's too many self-indulgent wieners in this city with too much bloody money! Now, if I was driving a 1967 275 GTB four-cam...
Roger the Car Salesman: You would not be a self-indulgent wiener, sir... You'd be a connoisseur.
Memphis: Precisely. Champagne would fall from the heavens. Doors would open. Velvet ropes would part.

Memphis: Shut it off!
Raymond Calitri: You got 30 seconds to consider your options. One, you kill me, they kill you, your brother dies anyway.
Memphis: Shut it off!
Raymond Calitri: Two, you lie, you accept the job, you run, I hunt you down, I kill you, I kill your brother, and I kill your mother for the aggravation you cause me. Three, you accept the job, you steal some cars, you make some money, and you be a big brother.

Hey Sphinx, check it out. Homeboy got "SNAKE" on the license plate. Well, Snake gon' have to slither his ass all the way to the bus stop in the morning... I got some low-riding music for you. It's better than that cracker shit you listen to.

Mirror Man

Donny: How did you get this car?
Freb: Actually, the keys were in it.
Donny: Well, that kinda defies the point.
Memphis: You stole a car that wasn't on the list. Why don't you just go to the police station in a red clown suit and let everybody know what we're doing here?

Johnnie B.: Raines! Memphis Raines!
Memphis: Do I know you?
Johnnie B.: Well, you should know me, considering all the business you screwed up for me in the past, baby.
Memphis: Johnnie B.
Johnnie B.: That's me.
Memphis: What can I do for you?
Johnnie B.: Well, I'll tell you what you can do for me. Get out of Long Beach, tonight.

Kip: Why are people shooting at us?
Memphis: 'Cause I blew up their car!

Simon: Where are my pigeons now?
Inspector Cobb: Pigeons?
Simon: I had two pigeons, bright and gay, fly for me the other day. Why is it they did go? You cannot tell, you do not know.
Inspector Cobb: You mean McClane?
Simon: No, I mean Santa Claus.

It's okay, Eleanor. It can be fixed.


Drycoff: What's up?
Det. Roland Castlebeck: What's the story with that HumVee?
Drycoff: Gone.
Det. Roland Castlebeck: Cadillac?
Drycoff: Same. Where we goin'?
Det. Roland Castlebeck: The only '67 Shelby in the area is registered at a place called the International Towers in Long Beach.
Drycoff: Let's go to Long Beach.

John Mason: Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes.
Stanley Goodspeed: "I fear the Greeks even when they bring gifts."
John Mason: Ah, an educated man. That, of course, rules out the possibility of you being a field agent.

John Mason: What exactly does this stuff do?
Stanley Goodspeed: If the rocket renders it aerosol, it could take out the entire city of people.
John Mason: Really? And what happens if you drop one?
Stanley Goodspeed: Happily, it'd just wipe out you and me.
John Mason: How?
Stanley Goodspeed: It's a cholinesterase inhibitor. Stops the brain from sending nerve messages down the spinal cord within thirty seconds. Any epidermal exposure or inhalation and you'll know. A twinge at the small of your back as the poison seizes your nervous system...

You call this archaeology?

Professor Henry Jones

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