Dr. Lewis Jaffe: Just me and my little knife! Snip snip - slice slice... can you believe it?
Dr. Lewis Jaffe: Faces are a doddle compared to tits and ass. No hairline.
Spoor: Where'd you get this from, eh? Out yer nostril?
Spoor: All you've got to do is blow your nose and it's fixed, in't it?
Lime: Computers are my forte!
Jill Layton: Care for a little necrophilia? Hmmm?
Sam Lowry: Are you alright? Jill Layton: Yeah. Sam Lowry: Well, you don't deserve to be!
Sam: I only know you got the wrong man. Jack: Information Transit got the wrong man. I got the *right* man. The wrong one was delivered to me as the right man, I accepted him on good faith as the right man. Was I wrong?
Guard: Don't fight it son. Confess quickly! If you hold out too long you could jeopardize your credit rating.
Sam Lowry: Excuse me, Dawson, can you put me through to Mr. Helpmann's office? Dawson: I'm afraid I can't sir. You have to go through the proper channels. Sam Lowry: And you can't tell me what the proper channels are, because that's classified information? Dawson: I'm glad to see the Ministry's continuing its tradition of recruiting the brightest and best, sir. Sam Lowry: Thank you, Dawson.
Sam Lowry: How are the twins? Jack Lint: Triplets. Sam Lowry: My, how time flies!
Mr. Warrenn: There you are, your own office with your very own door.
Mr. Warrenn: What is this mess? An empty desk is an efficient desk.
Santa Claus: What would you like for Christmas? Little girl on his lap: My own credit card.
Arresting Officer: This is your receipt for your husband ... and this is my receipt for your receipt.
Bill, Department of Works: Mistakes? We don't make mistakes.
Charlie, Department of Works: Bloody typical, they've gone back to metric without telling us.
Shirley: Salt? Pepper? Oh, it's... it's all right. I don't like you either.
Harry Tuttle: Bloody paperwork. Huh! Sam Lowry: I suppose one has to expect a certain amount. Harry Tuttle: Why? I came into this game for the action, the excitement. Go anywhere, travel light, get in, get out, wherever there's trouble, a man alone. Now they got the whole country sectioned off, you can't make a move without a form.
Harry Tuttle: ...well, that's a pipe of a different color.
Harry Tuttle: Listen, this old system of yours could be on fire and I couldn't even turn on the kitchen tap without filling out a 27b/6... Bloody paperwork.
Harry Tuttle: My good friends call me Harry.
Harry Tuttle: Listen, kid, we're all in it together.
Kurtzmann: It's been confusion from the word go!
Mrs. Buttle: What have you done with his body?
Jack Lint: Until this whole thing blows over, just stay away from me.
Jack Lint: It's not my fault that Buttle's heart condition didn't appear on Tuttle's file!
Sam Lowry: Yes...No...I don't know. I don't know what I want.
Sam Lowry: My name's Lowry. Sam Lowry. I've been told to report to Mr. Warrenn. Porter - Information Retrieval: Thirtieth floor, sir. You're expected. Sam Lowry: Um...don't you want to search me? Porter - Information Retrieval: No sir. Sam Lowry: Do you want to see my ID? Porter - Information Retrieval: No need, sir. Sam Lowry: But I could be anybody. Porter - Information Retrieval: No you couldn't sir. This is Information Retrieval.
Sam Lowry: Mr. Helpmann, I'm keen to get into Information Retrieval. Mr. Helpmann, I'm dying to get at this woman... no, no, no.
Sam Lowry: Yes, I always used to wonder if she wore falsies. False ears...
Sam Lowry: Sorry, I'm a bit of a stickler for paperwork. Where would we be if we didn't follow the correct procedures?
Sam Lowry: I assure you, Mrs. Buttle, the Ministry is very scrupulous about following up and eradicating any error. If you have any complaints which you'd like to make, I'd be more than happy to send you the appropriate forms.
Mr. Helpmann: Bad sportsmanship. A ruthless minority of people seem to have forgotten good old-fashioned virtues. They just can't stand seeing the other fellow win. If these people would just play the game...
Mr. Helpmann: We're fielding all their strokes, running a lot of them out, and pretty consistently knocking them for six. I'd say they're nearly out of the game.
Mr. Helpmann: Jill? Yes...Sam I think I ought to tell you. I'm afraid she's upped stumps and retired to the pavillion. Thrown in the towel.
Mr. Helpmann: All I can say is don't fall at the last fence. The finishing post's in sight. See you in the paddock...keep your eye on the ball.