Lone Watie: Get ready, little lady. Hell is coming to breakfast.
Bangles: Oh, hi, Bugsy.
Bugsy Malone: Hi, Bangles. Is Blousey there, please?
Bangles: She won't see you.
Bugsy Malone: Tell her I'm sick.
Bangles: You're sick?
Bugsy Malone: Yeah, sick of waiting.
Jamesir Bensonmum: She murdered herself in her sleep, sir.
Dick Charleston: You mean suicide?
Jamesir Bensonmum: Oh no, it was murder, all right. Mrs. Twain hated herself.
Franco: Remember the first rule of Italian driving. [Pulls the rearview mirror off and throws it over his shoulder.]. What's behind me is not important.
George Caldwell: I've never milked a cow before.
Rita: Cut the gas, Steve, you're a grown man. I'm sure you've had some similar experience.
Esther Hoffman: You can trash your life but you're not going to trash mine.
Travis Bickle: All the animals come out at night - whores, skunk pussies, buggers, queens, fairies, dopers, junkies, sick, venal. Someday a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.
Carson City Marshal Walter Thibido: How are you feeling? A little more poorly everyday?
John Bernard Books: You have a streak of kindness a mile wide.
Carson City Marshal Walter Thibido: That I do.
Coach Morris Buttermaker: What if he tries something?
Amanda Whurlitzer: I'll handle it.
Coach Morris Buttermaker: Rolling Stones, 11 years old.
Amanda Whurlitzer: I know an 11-year-old girl who is already on the pill.
Coach Morris Buttermaker: Don't ever say that word again.
Amanda Whurlitzer: Jesus! Just who in the heck you think you are?
Coach Morris Buttermaker: The goddamned manager, that's who.
Amanda Whurlitzer: Big wow.
Margaret White: Carrie, you haven't touched your apple cake.
Carrie: It gives me pimples, Mama.
Margaret White: Pimples are the Lord's way of chastising you.
Harry Fishbine: This is still the United States of America, god damn it! Los Angeles, California! Land of the free, home of the.
Mother: Rams and the Dodgers.
Terry Collier: That's just one of life's bitter ironies Bob.
Bob: I suffer a lot from those.
Janeway: All right, you guys! Let's go! Move out of there.
Melendez: Blow it out your ass, motherfucker.
RAdm. Tamon Yamaguchi: Once, we filled the sky with our aircraft. Now we win or lose with six fighters and ten torpedo planes.
Colonel Pitts: Where you from, son?
Soldier: Omaha, sir.
Colonel Pitts: By this time next year pigeons are going to be crapping on statues of you across the whole damn state of Nebraska.
Woody Guthrie: This land is your land/This land is my land/From California to the New York Island/From the Redwood forests to the Gulf Stream waters/This land was made for you and me.