Duke: All your strength, all your power, all your love. Everything you've got. Right now!
Marty McFly: Calvin? Why do you keep calling me Calvin?
Lorraine Baines: Well, that is your name, isn't it? Calvin Klein? It's written all over your underwear.
Arius: Your father appears to be cooperating. You will be back with him soon. Won't that be nice?
Jenny: Not as nearly as nice as watching him smash your face in.
The Preacher: Nothing like a nice piece of hickory.
Kyoami: Are there no gods... no Buddha? If you exist, hear me. You are mischievous and cruel! Are you so bored up there you must crush us like ants? Is it such fun to see men weep?
Tango: Enough! Do not blaspheme! It is the gods who weep. They see us killing each other over and over since time began. They can't save us from ourselves.
Harold Smith: Guard, protect and cherish your land, for there is no afterlife for a place that started out as Heaven. Charles M. Russell, Montana, 1926.
Leroy Green: I do not even have a paint brush.
Max Zorin: This will hurt him more than me.
Vince Latello: Son of a bitch, whaddaya call this wawa?
Sherman: I believe you'd call him a Neanderthal man.
Vince Latello: Well I don't care what country he's from! One shot to the chones an' he's down.
Putter: If you don't let me out I'm throwin' up all over the front seat.
Rankin: Let me tell you where you assholes stand. First there's God, then the warden, then my guards, then the dogs out there in the kennel, and finally, you. Pieces of human waste. No good to yourselves or anybody else.
Ruth Lanier: I was reading about the stars. Talked about how the stars are the eyes of god. I think it's true, don't you?
Richard Chance: No, I don't.
Kyobo: Hatred of men in a lovely young woman... Such could be your downfall.
Red Sonja: I don't hate ALL men, Grandmaster.
Kyobo: Those words would have brought music to my heart, thirty years ago.
Joan Wilder: My heart just isn't in it. I mean, romance just doesn't seem real to me anymore.
Gloria: Real? You don't write real - you write about people that sail off into the god damn sunset.
Joan Wilder: Well, what about the next day, when the sun comes up?
Gloria: There is no next day! That's why it's a romance. You've got to stop confusing real life with a romantic novel.
D's Left Hand, Narration: Be honest with yourself. Do you think that your high and mighty code of honour kept you from responding to a young girls desire. Ha! And you have the nerve to call yourself a dampiel and claimed that your father is non-other than.
D: That enough.
D's Left Hand, Narration: So, hit a nerve, did I?
Brennan: Hey Sarge! You know how a Camacho's like a cue ball? Cause the harder you hit 'em, the better their English gets.