Secretary: How do you write women so well?
Melvin Udall: I think of a man, and I take away reason and accountability.
Frau Farbissina: Remember when we froze your semen? You said that if it looked like you weren't coming back we should try to make you a son so that a part of you could live forever?
Dr. Evil: Oh, sure.
Frau Farbissina: Well, after a couple of years, we got a little impatient. Dr. Evil, I want you to meet your son.
Dr. Evil: My son?
Frau Farbissina: Ja. SCOTT!
Mama Joe: One finger pointing the blame won't make no impact, but you ball all those fingers into a mighty fist, and you can strike a mighty blow. Now, this family has got to be that fist.
Himmel: Don't flatter me.
Pest: Alright. You have a big nose, your feet stink and your mother dresses you funny.
Beatrice: I'll tell you something right now; I know Edgar and that wasn't Edgar. It's like something was wearing Edgar like a suit. An Edgar suit.
Guido: I forgot to tell you.
Dora: Go ahead.
Guido: You can't imagine how much I feel like making love to you. But I'll never tell anyone, especially not you. They'd have to torture me to make me say it.
Dora: Say what?
Guido: That I want to make love to you - not just once, but over and over again! But I'll never tell you that. I'd have to be crazy to tell you. I'd even make love to you now... right here for the rest of my life.
Marty: You don't know when to quit, do ya Griswold? Here's an idea: Why don't you give me half the money you were gonna bet? Then, we'll go out back, I'll kick you in the nuts, and we'll call it a day.
Debi: So, is there a Mrs. Mysterio?
Martin Blank: No, but I do have a very nice cat?
Debi: Not the same.
Martin Blank: Well, you don't know my cat, it's very demanding.
Debi: It? You don't know if it's a boy or girl?
Martin Blank: I respect its privacy.
Narrator: And so, onward and upward the tired trekkers trudged on feverished footsies over perilous paths. When they beheld the mighty Ape Mountain, the reacted with awe.
Group: Awwww.
Narrator: I said, "Awe." A-W-E.
Group: Ooh.
Narrator: That's better.
Alex: Excuse me for being a good citizen.
Charlie Barret: I'm going to give you an opportunity: get out of this. Now. Before it gets so fucked up nobody could ever recover.
Alex Whitman: Where are you going?
Isabel Fuentes: You're not my favorite person right now.
Alex Whitman: Yeah, well, you either.
Gordon Szalinski: You are dead meat, mister.
Wayne Szalinski: Gordon, you're three-quarters of an inch tall, now's not the time.
Fan 1: What about last season?
Fan 2: What about it?
Fan 1: They were rubbish. They were fucking rubbish.
Fan 2: They weren't that bad.
Fan 1: They were fucking rubbish last year. And they were fucking rubbish the year before. And I don't care if they are top of the League, they'll be fucking rubbish this year, too. And next year. And the year after that. I'm not joking.
Fan 2: I don't know why you come, Frank. Honest I don't.
Fan 1: Well, you live in hope, don't you?
Nick Beam: You don't say "sorry" when you shoot somebody. You can say "sorry" when you step on someone's toe, or accidentally break their glasses, or when you fart while they're eating. you don't SAY you'RE sorry when you shoot someone.
Franklin Hatchett: You know guns don't kill people, stupid motherfuckers with guns kill people.
Ernie: He's Hitler with a tail. He's "The Omen" with whiskers. Even Nostradamus didn't see him coming.