Rear Admiral: The end is inevitable, Maverick. Your kind is headed for extinction.
Maverick: Maybe so, sir. But not today.
Stuart Long: Like anything, it's the struggle that brings you closer to God. I never shied away from no fight. Teaching priests to rat on suffering men, they're getting closer to Judas than Jesus.
Pádraic Súilleabháin: Some things there's no moving on from. And I think that's a good thing.
June: Sometimes people cut you, and they leave an imprint on you that's like a gash on your soul. You just live with it and you can't undo that. If you erase the pain, you erase the person.
Martine Bancroft: Michael, what's happening?
Dr. Michael Morbius: I went from dying... to feeling more alive than ever. Increased strength and speed... the ability to use echolocation... and an overpowering urge to consume blood.
Tricia Albright: The Albrights have been here since the Mayflower arrived.
Edward Nashton: If you are justice, please do not lie / What is the price for your blind eye?
Benoit Blanc: You dimwitted... brainless... JACKASS! Your one murder with any panache at all, and you stole the whole idea from me.
Young Amleth: I will avenge you, Father! I will save you, Mother! I will kill you, Fjölnir.
Danny Sharp: You are all gonna have the greatest story to tell at dinner tonight.
Emily: If you want to tell me what to do, put me on the fucking payroll.
Lydia Tár: You want to dance the mask, you must service the composer. You gotta sublimate yourself, your ego, and, yes, your identity. You must, in fact, stand in front of the public and God and obliterate yourself.
Ferruccio Lamborghini: You buy a Ferrari when you want to be someone. You buy a Lamborghini when you are someone.
Cyrus: But it's not always if you hurt, but who you hurt. Nemesis always punched up. I was about your age when he died. He was my hero. Nemesis humbled the proud, gave people a beating who needed a beating. To people around here, Nemesis was a god. Samaritan, just another cop to protect the rich while the rest of us went hungry.
Roy: Monk.
Roy: Who walks out into the cold, in December, in Chicago, without his coat?
Monk: I ain't good at riddles.
Mason: You are a fucking drug dealer or a history teacher? You hypocrite motherfucker.
Pettis: Why am I hypocrite? Because I make money the same way white folks do?