Earl: Yeah, you CAN drive.
Jack Crews: It's comin' back to me.
Jack Crews: There ain't nothing like a Caterpillar engine.
Earl: Easy up Crews, you're going burn it up.
Jack Crews: Alright watch this.
Molly Jensen: Carl, are you all right?
Carl Bruner: It's just my stomach! Do you have anything like Pepto Bismol or something like that?
Sam Wheat: Cyanide.
Molly Jensen: I love you. I really love you.
Sam Wheat: Ditto.
Oda Mae Brown: Four-million dollars?
Lyle Furgeson: Yes. Four-million dollars. And, um, how would you like that, Mrs. Miller?
Oda Mae Brown: Tens and twenties?
Sam Wheat: No, a cashier's check.
Oda Mae Brown: Actually... I think better a cashier's check.
Lyle Furgeson: Right.
Sam Wheat: They're going to kill you, Carl. You and Willie! You're going to be fertilizer. They're gonna bury you right next to Jimmy Hoffa.
[Sam pushes Carl around in Molly's kitchen.]
Sam Wheat: Now, do you believe in ghosts?
Oda Mae Brown: He's dressed in a black suit.
Rosa Santiago: Black suit?
Oda Mae Brown: Could be blue.
Sam Wheat: What a crock of shit!
John Isabella: I'm truly sorry about your brother. It's too bad.
Truman Gates: Oh no sir. You ain't seen bad yet, but its coming.
Truman Gates: I got three counties' worth of kin that expect a certain amount of justice for that death! I'm just trying to save both of us a lot of bloodletting.
Lawrence Isabella: I haven't done anything illegal.
Truman Gates: Oh really? Well I had an interesting talk with a fellow last night who claims different. My man says you were in the back of the truck when my brother was killed.
Truman Gates: They're coming for you, Willy. I know you'll take a couple of them with you for sure, but they'll take you just the same. Or we can take a ride to the station together, just a couple of boys from the hills. You got my word on that. I know you ain't scared to die, Willy. But this ain't no place to leave your ghost.
Truman Gates: I'm just trying to make things easier.
Gerald Gates: Bullshit. You're just as bad as Briar. Just smoother.
Darrel Curtis: Pony, what's wrong?
Ponyboy: Johnny's dead. Told him about beating the Socs, I don't know. He just died. Told me to stay gold. Dally's gone. He couldn't take it, he's going to blow.
Steve: Where are Soda, and Super-dope, anyhow?
Darrel Curtis: Super-what?
Steve: All brawn, no brains.
Bodhi: If you want the ultimate, you've got to be willing to pay the ultimate price. It's not tragic to die doing what you love.
Bodhi: Life sure has a sick sense of humor, doesn't it?
Pecos Bill: I ought to plug you two right now, but I make it a rule never to kill a man on Sunday.
Zeb: Today's Wednesday.
Pecos Bill: I ain't apologizin' to no ox.
Daniel Hackett: Who are you?
Pecos Bill: I'm a ring-tailed roarer. I can draw faster, shoot straighter, ride harder and drink longer than any man alive. I ride cyclones and I wrestle.
Daniel Hackett: You got a name, don't you?
Pecos Bill: I'm getting' to that. I'm the rip-snortinest cowboy that ever rode north, south, east or west of the Rio Grande. I'm Pecos Bill.
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