Mark Rumsfield: There go the Goddamn brownies.
Louis Creed: My father used to have a saying, Jud. God sees the truth... But waits.
Frank Forrester: We also got a call from the white witch.
Alex Whitaker: You mean, Dana?
Frank Forrester: Yes, lovely Dana. She knows the location... it's an old hotel on the California coast.
Lilly: Oh, Riff, since Cindy's not feeling well, looks like you and I are gonna be partners.
Riff: No fuckin' way.
Freddy Krueger: It's a boy.
Rennie: There is a maniac trying to kill us.
Waitress: Welcome to New York.
Bill Roberts: There's gonna be one more killing here tonight.
Pastor: Can I ask what your interest is in finding such a book?
Giles Redferne: Our interest lies in stopping those who would see all good falter. It lies in stopping the powers of misrule from coming of age. It lies in finding that damned book, and thwarting a vile beast of a man who shall not rest until God himself is thrown down, and all of creation becomes Satan's black hell-besmeared farting hole.
Kassandra: You asked.
Mikey: So how many cases can we get?
Spitz: Three cases. Any more and I think old Mr. Casy would-ah-know something's up, but we gotta get going, shift changes pretty soon. You gonna pull around back or should we both get busted out front?
Marylou Summers: The Devil was a werewolf... Wow, that's incredible.
Koster: Alright you bunch of pussies! I'm back and I'm kicking ass.
Scott McCarthy: Never sneak up on a man when he's blasting Metallica.
Tony Vincenti: Who the hell are you kidding? You're going up there to take on Casper the fucking ghost. You don't need a detective... you need Bill Murray for Christ's sake.
Col. Jason Grant: Oh, Christ. That's what we are - spare parts.
Beth: You can't walk... and you're getting worse.
Martin Brundle: I'm getting...better.
Snyder: I did everything by the book, I followed my orders.
Dr. Diane Norris: Get my kit.
Martin: I realise you must have gone through hell.
Justin Jones: Gone? Bitch, we're still here.
Hughie Warriner: Don't you believe me?
Dwight Ingalls: Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
Coach Harris: Fuck you too.
Dwight Ingalls: You can't talk to students like that.
Coach Harris: Fuck you! Now suit up.