Nick Mercer: I'd rather fight with you than make love with anyone else.
Nick Parker: You two help Meredith.
Meredith Blake: Sure you'll help me. Right over a cliff, you'll help me.
Hallie Parker: Not a bad idea.
Annie James: Yeah, see any cliffs?
Austin Powers: Mole! Bloody mole! We aren't supposed to talk about the bloody mole, but there's a bloody mole winking me in the face! I want to cut it off, chop it off, and make guacaMOLE!
Vanellope von Schweetz: As your merciful princess I hereby decree that everyone who was ever mean to me shall be...executed.
Crowd of girls: What?!
Sergeant Calhoun: Well, this place just got interesting.
Ken: You coming up?
Ray: What's up there?
Ken: Well, the view.
Ray: The view of what? The view of down here? I can see that down here.
Ken: Ray, you're about the worst tourist in the whole world!
Ray: Ken, I grew up in Dublin. I love Dublin. If I'd grown up on a farm, and was retarded, Bruges might impress me. But I didn't, so it doesn't!
Bailey: So, in all my lives as a dog, here's what I've learned. Have fun, obviously. Whenever possible, find someone to save, and save them. Lick the ones you love. Don't get all sad-faced about what happened and scrunchy-faced about what could. Just be here now.
Susan Cooper: Well, here's to your mom.
Rayna Boyanov: To my mother. And to you.
Susan Cooper: And here's to you. I mean you may never be as wise as an owl but you'll always be a hoot to me! Haha.
Rayna Boyanov: What a stupid fucking retarded toast. You're delightful.
Susan Cooper: As are you.
Patrick: Don't ever let any one make you feel like you don't deserve what you want.
Inigo Montoya: Who are you?
Westley: No one of consequence.
Inigo Montoya: I must know.
Westley: Get used to disappointment.
Inigo Montoya: Okay.
Nigel: The numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board, eleven, eleven, eleven and...
Martin: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?
Nigel: Exactly.
Martin: Does that mean it's louder? Is it any louder?
Nigel: Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?
Martin: I don't know.
Nigel: Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?
Martin: Put it up to eleven.
Nigel: Elevn. Exactly. One louder.
Martin: Why don't you just make ten louder and make ten be the top number and make that a little louder?
[Pause.]
Nigel: These go to eleven.
Fred's Dad: I should have ejaculated in your mother's anus instead the night you were conceived.
Ricky Baker: It was a relaxing song... and a relaxing sausage.
Jack Sparrow: Who makes all these?
Will Turner: I do. And I practice with them... Three hours a day.
Jack Sparrow: You need to get yourself a girl, mate. Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you've already found one and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch, are you?
Running Buffalo: Swell party, where's the whisky?
Gigi: Girls are taught a lot of stuff growing up. If a guy punches you he likes you. Never try to trim your own bangs and someday you will meet a wonderful guy and get your very own happy ending. Every movie we see, Every story we're told implores us to wait for it, the third act twist, the unexpected declaration of love, the exception to the rule. But sometimes we're so focused on finding our happy ending we don't learn how to read the signs. How to tell from the ones who want us and the ones who don't, the ones who will stay and the ones who will leave. And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe... It's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is... Just... Moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope.
Check-Out Woman: Are you here all by yourself?
Kevin McCallister: Ma'am, I'm eight years old. You think I would be here *alone*? I don't think so.
Julia Knight: Dick me dead, and bury me pregnant.