Carl Showalter: What kind of trouble are you in, Jerry?
Jerry Lundegaard: Well, that's, that's, I'm not gonna go inta, inta - see, I just need money.

Dr. Frederick Frankenstein: What knockers.
Inga: Oh, thank you doctor.

What the fuck, man? You shot me in my stomach! I'm gonna die now, probably. Man, I had y'all over for dinner! Fish tacos! This is how you do me?

Red

Reporter: What would you call that hairstyle you're wearing?
George: Arthur.

When I'm high, I AM Odetta. Let's get naked and smoke.

Beatnik Chick

Dr Ray Stantz: Where do these stairs go?
Dr. Peter Venkman: They go up.

Anthony: Which part of Mexico are you from?
Inez: Paraguay.

Miles Raymond: [while tasting wine] It tastes like the back of a fucking L.A. school bus. Now they probably didn't de-stem, hoping for some semblance of concentration, crushed it up with leaves and mice, and then wound up with this rancid tar and turpentine bullshit. Fuckin' Raid.
Jack: Tastes pretty good to me.

Who's Barry Badrinath? Who's Barry Badrinath? Who's Barry Badrinath? Who's Barry Badrinath? Who's Barry Badrinath? Who's Barry Badrinath? Who's Barry Badrinath?

Landfill

Wild thing, you make my heart sing.

Lady

With a bit of luck, his life was ruined forever. Always thinking that just behind some narrow door in all of his favorite bars, men in red woolen shirts are getting incredible kicks from things he'll never know.

Raoul Duke

Jane: Would you like a nightcap?
Frank: No thank you, I don't wear them.

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