Maria: All of you! You all killed him! And my brother, and Riff. Not with bullets, or guns, with hate. Well now I can kill, too, because now I have hate.
Corporal Miller: Sir, I've inspected this boat, and I think you ought to know that I can't swim.
Paul Varjak: Holly, I'm in love with you.
Holly Golightly: So what?
Paul Varjak: So what? So plenty! I love you. You belong to me.
Holly Golightly: No. People don't belong to people.
Paul Varjak: Of course they do.
Holly Golightly: I'm not going to let anyone put me in a cage.
Paul Varjak: I don't want to put you in a cage. I want to love you.
Holly Golightly: It's the same thing.
Paul Varjak: No it's not. Holly...
Holly Golightly: I'm not Holly. I'm not Lula Mae, either. I don't know who I am! I'm like cat here, a couple of no-name slobs. We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us. We don't even belong to each other.
Fast Eddie: I'm shooting pool, Fats. When I miss, you can shoot.
Roslyn: If I'm going to be alone, I want to be by myself.
Craddock: Have they got any other servants?
Miss Marple: Yes they have, Inspector.
Craddock: Good Lord! You.
Miss Marple: Yes. Dotty old me.
Sanjuro: You idiot, I'm not giving up yet. Theres a bunch of guys I have to kill first.
Radio Reporter: We're waiting at Battersea. Waiting. Hoping. Praying for a miracle. The entire electricity of all industrial London has been diverted to the wires surrounding the small animal's enclosure. Will it be enough? Will it be enough to stop the huge beast? Will the miracle be granted? Or will it be yet another of man's puny efforts to oppose this irresistible force of ancient nature?
Wilma Dean: Didn't you ever feel that way about Dad?
Mrs. Loomis: Your father never laid a hand on me until we were married. Then I... I just gave in because a wife has to. A woman doesn't enjoy those things the way a man does. She just lets her husband come near her in order to have children.
Johnny Cabot: I like a messy bed.
Jesus: My God, my God, why have you foresaken me?
Emil Hahn: Today, you sentence me! Tomorrow, the Bolsheviks sentence you.
Father Matthew Doonan: I'll bet you were a sweet little altar boy.
Harry: Weren't we all?