[Winston Wolf takes exception to Vincent's taking exception
to his brusque manner] Winston Wolf: So, pretty please -
with sugar on top ... clean the fuckin' car!
Jimmie: I can't believe this is the same car! Winston Wolf:
Well, let's not start sucking each other's dicks just yet.
Vincent Vega: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Vincent Vega: Jules, if you give that fuckin' nimrod fifteen
hundred dollars, I'm gonna shoot him on general principles.
Jules: We're all gonna be three little Fonzies - and what
was Fonzie?! Yolanda: Cool? Jules: Correct-a-mundo!
Butch Coolidge: Will you hand me a towel, tulip? Fabienne:
Ah, I like that. I like tulip. Tulip is much better than
mongoloid.
Marsellus: In the fifth, your ass goes down. Say it. Butch
Coolidge: In the fifth, my ass goes down.
Mia: I do believe Marsellus Wallace, my husband, your boss,
told you to take ME out and do WHATEVER I WANTED. I wanna
dance, I wanna win. I want that trophy, so dance good.
The Wolf: That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten.
Jules: Normally, both of you would be dead as fucking fried
chicken by now, but since I'm in a transitional period,
I don't want to kill either one of your asses.
Jimmie: Well, the thing on my mind right now isn't the good
coffee in my cup, it's the dead nigger in my garage.
Jules: Whether or not what we experienced was an According
to Hoyle miracle is irrelevant. What is relevant is that
I felt the touch of God. God got involved.
Jimmie: I'm gonna get divorced. No marriage counselling,
no trial separation, divorced.
Honey Bunny: Any of you fuckin' pricks move, and I'll execute
every mother fuckin' last one of ya.
Vincent: We should have shotguns for this.
Butch Coolidge: You okay? Marcellus: No. I'm pretty fuckin'
far from being okay.
Jules: Whoa... whoa... whoa... stop right there. Eatin'
a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even
the same fuckin' thing. Vincent: Not the same thing, the
same ballpark. Jules: It ain't no ballpark either. Look
maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin'
his lady's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holyiest
of holies, ain't the same ballpark, ain't the same league,
ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean
shit. Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage? Jules:
Don't be tellin' me about foot massages - I'm the foot fuckin'
master. Vincent: Given a lot of 'em? Jules: Shit yeah. I
got my technique down man, I don't tickle or nothin'. Vincent:
Have you ever given a guy a foot massage? Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: How many? Jules: Fuck you. Vincent: Would you give
me a foot massage? I'm kinda tired. Jules: Man, you best
back off, I'm gittin' pissed.
Jules: Check out the big brain on Brett!
Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like? Brett: What?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say "what" again. SAY "WHAT" AGAIN!
I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker! Say "what"
one more goddamn time! Brett: He's b-b-black... Jules: Go
on. Brett: He's bald... Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What? [Jules shoots Brett in shoulder] Jules: DOES
HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH? Brett: NO! Jules: Then why you trying
to fuck him like a bitch, Brett? Brett: I didn't! Jules:
Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him.
And Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody,
except Mrs. Wallace.
[Jules shoots the guy on the couch during Brett's interrogation]
Jules: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration?
Marcellus: No one needs to know about this except you, me
and Mr.-soon-to-be-living-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing
-pain-rapist here.
Vincent Vega: That's a pretty fucking good milkshake. I
don't know if it's worth five dollars but it's pretty fucking
good.
[Marcellus is telling Butch to take a dive.] Marcellus:
The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's
pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it
never helps.
[Ezekiel 25:17 among others] Jules: The path of the righteous
man is beset on all sides by the inequities of the selfish
and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he, who in the name
of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the
valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper
and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down
upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who
would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you
will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon
thee.
[Vincent Vega goes up to Butch at the bar] Butch Coolidge:
What're you looking at, friend? Vincent Vega: I ain't your
friend, palooka. Butch Coolidge: What did you say? Vincent
Vega: I think you heard me just fine, punchy.
[After a long pause in their conversation] Mia Wallace:
Don't you hate that? Vincent Vega: Hate what? Mia Wallace:
Uncomfortable silences.
Mia: Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit
in order to become comfortable?
Lance: You're going to give her an injection of adrenaline
directly to her heart. Vincent: Then what happens? Lance:
I'm curious about that myself.
Marcellus: I'm prepared to scour the the Earth for that
motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indochina, I want a nigger
waiting in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.
Butch Coolidge: I think I have a broken rib. Fabienne: From
giving me oral pleasure?
Fabienne: Whose motorcycle is this? Butch Coolidge: It's
a chopper, baby. Fabienne: Whose chopper is this? Butch
Coolidge: It's Zed's. Fabienne: Who's Zed? Butch Coolidge:
Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.
Jimmie: Now let me ask you a question, Jules. When you drove
in here, did you notice a sign out in front that said, "Dead
nigger storage"? Jules: Jimmie... Jimmie: Answer the question!
Did you see a sign out in front of my house that said "Dead
nigger storage"? Jules: Naw man, I didn't. Jimmie: You know
why you didn't see that sign? Jules: Why? Jimmie: 'Cause
storin' dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business!
Jules: I don't wanna hear about no motherfuckin' ifs. All
I wanna hear from yo' ass is, "You ain't got no problem,
Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill
them niggaz out and wait for the calvery which should be
coming directly." Marcellus: You ain't got no problem Jules.
I'm on the moterfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggaz
out and wait for the Wolf who should be coming directly.
Jules: Yolanda, I thought you were gonna be cool. When you
yell at me, it makes me nervous. When I get nervous, I get
scared. And when motherfuckers get scared, that's when motherfuckers
get accidentally shot.
Jules Winnfield: Hand me my wallet. Pumpkin: Which one is
it? Jules Winnfield: It's the one with "bad motherfucker"
written on it.
Jules Winnfield: If my answers frighten you then you should
cease asking scary questions.
Winston Wolf: You guys look like... What do they look like,
Jimmie? Jimmie: Dorks. They look like a couple of dorks.
Jules Winnfield: Ha-ha-ha. They're your clothes, motherfucker.
Lance: Look, you brought her here, and that means that you're
giving her the shot. The day that I bring an OD-ing bitch
over to your house, then I'll give her the shot.
Winston Wolf: You see that, young lady? Respect. Respect
for one's elders gives character. Raquel: I have character.
Winston Wolf: Just because you are a character doesn't mean
that you have character.
Butch: That's how you're gonna beat 'em, Butch. They keep
underestimating you.
Zed: Bring out the Gimp. Maynard: But the Gimp's sleeping.
Zed: Well, I guess you better go and wake him up then.
