Marcus: I rebuke the spirit of drugs in the name of Jesus. What's his name?
Drummer: I.B. Bangin'.
Marcus: What you mean I.B. Bangin'?
Drummer: I.B. Bangin'.
Marcus: What the hell kind of name is I.B. Bangin'?
Drummer: I don't know his real name.
I.B.'s Girlfriend: It's Frederick Smith.
Marcus: Okay, Freddy.
I.B.'s Girlfriend: It's Frederick.
Marcus: Okay, I.B. Bangin', we're gonna bring you back from the dead.
Frank Pierce: I'd always had nightmares, but now the ghosts didn't wait for me to sleep.
Rose: It's not your fault. No one asked you to suffer. That was your idea.
Mary Burke: You have to be strong to survive in this city.
Griss: Griss cannot abide the funk tonight.
Frank Pierce: I realised that my training was useful in less than ten percent of the calls, and saving lives was rarer than that. After a while, I grew to understand that my role was less about saving lives than about bearing witness. I was a grief mop. It was enough that I simply turned up.
Frank Pierce: You said if I came in late for another shift, you'd fire me.
Captain Barney: I'll fire you tomorrow.
Tom Wall: Frank, what do you know? It's you and me again tonight. The rough riders, tearing up the streets, just like old times. This old bus is a warrior, Frank. I have tried to kill her, but she will not die. I have a great respect for that.
Tom Wall: You okay?
Frank Pierce: Never felt better in my life, how are you?
Griss: Don't make me take off my sunglasses.
Marcus: Rule Number One: Don't get involved with patients. Rule Number Two: don't get involved with patients' daughters, now do you understand that?
Frank Pierce: What about Rule Number Three: Don't get involved with dispatchers named Love?
Marcus: Boy, you don't know nothin' bout Rule Number Three! Can't even begin to understand the complexities of that rule.
Frank Pierce: Tom, where are the Band-Aids? This is an ambulance, isn't it?
Marcus: I'm a true cocksman. I don't mix my seed. The only time I touch a white woman is when I'm holding her down for the police.
Marcus: Don't tell me about the Good book now, son. I'll preach heaven and beat the hell outta you.
Frank Pierce: I gotta get a drink. Sobriety's killing me.
Dispatcher: You'll be going to the man who needs no introduction. Chronic caller of the year three straight and shooting for number four. The duke of drunk, the king of stink, our most frequent flier, Mr. Oh.
Frank Pierce: The streets are not like the ER. There's no walls, no controls.
Frank Pierce: Oh, I see. With all the poor people of this city who wanted only to live and were viciously murdered, you have the nerve to sit here, wanting to die, and not go through with it? You make me sick.
Tom Wall: Frank, what are you doing back there?
Frank Pierce: I'm sick, Tom. I need a cure. Vitamin B cocktail, followed by an amp of glucose and a drop of adrenaline. Not as good as beer, but it's all I got.
