Rachel Cooper: Women are such durn fools.
Rachel Cooper: She'll be losing her mind to a tricky mouth and a full moon, and like as not, I'll be saddled with the consequences.
Birdie Steptoe: Man of my age needs a little snort in the morning, heat the boilers.
Ben Harper: What religion do you profess, preacher?
Rev. Harry Powell: The religion the Almighty and me worked out betwixt us.
Rev. Harry Powell: Chiiilll... dren.
Towns children: Hing hang hung. See what the hangman done. Hing hang hing hang hing hang hung. See what the hangman done. Hung hang hing. See the robber swing. Hing hang hing hang hing hang hing hang. Hing hang hung. Now my song is done. Hing hang hung. See what the hangman done. Hung hang hing. See the robber swing. Hing hang hing hang hing hang hing hang. Hing hang hung.
Rev. Harry Powell: Salvation is a last-minute business, boy.
Rev. Harry Powell: She'll not be back. I reckon I'm safe in promising you that.
Rachel Cooper: You know, when you're little, you have more endurance than God is ever to grant you again. Children are man at his strongest. They abide.
Rachel Cooper: John - ain't you going to say hello to your pa?
John Harper: He's not my pa.
Rachel Cooper: No, and he ain't no preacher neither.
Rev. Harry Powell: Not that you mind the killings! There's plenty of killings in your book, Lord.
Rachel Cooper: I'm a strong tree with branches for many birds. I'm good for something in this world and I know it too.
Rev. Harry Powell: There are things you do hate, Lord. Perfume-smellin' things, lacy things, things with curly hair.
Rev. Harry Powell: Lord, you sure knew what you were doing when you brung me to this very cell at this very time. A man with ten thousand dollars hid somewhere, and a widder in the makin'.
Rev. Harry Powell: I can hear you whisperin' children, so I know you're down there. I can feel myself gettin' awful mad. I'm out of patience children. I'm coming to find you now.
Ben Harper: I got tired of seein' children roamin' the woodlands without food, children roamin' the highways in this here Depression, children sleepin' in old abandoned car bodies in junk heaps. And I promised myself that I'd never see the day when my young-uns had want.
Rev. Harry Powell: Now just tell me. Where's the money hid?
Pearl Harper: But I swore I promised John I wouldn't tell.
Rev. Harry Powell: John doesn't matter! Can't I get that through your head, you poor, silly, disgusting little wretch.
Rachel Cooper: Lord save little children. The wind blows, and the rains are cold. Yet they abide.
Icey Spoon: A husband's one piece of store goods you never know 'til you get it home and take the paper off.
