Ripley: Micro changes in air density, my ass.
Ripley: Ash, that transmission... Mother's deciphered part of it. It doesn't look like an S.O.S.
Ash: What is it, then?
Ripley: Well, I... It looks like a warning. I'm gonna go out after them.
Ash: What's the point? I mean by the, the time it takes to get there, you'll... They'll know if it's a warning or not, yes?
Ripley: Ash, can you hear me? Ash!
Ash: Yes, I can hear you.
Ripley: What was your special order?
Ash: You read it. I thought it was clear.
Ripley: What was it?
Ash: Bring back lifeform: Priority One. All other priorities rescinded.
Parker: The damn Company! What about our lives, you son of a bitch?
Ash: I repeat: all other priorities are rescinded.
Ripley: How do we kill it, Ash? There's got to be a way of killing it. How...how do we do it?
Ash: You can't.
Parker: That's bullshit!
Ash: You still don't understand what you're dealing with, do you? The perfect organism. Its structural perfection is matched only by its hostility.
Lambert: You admire it.
Ash: I admire its purity: survival unclouded by conscience, remorse or delusions of morality.
Parker: Look, I've heard enough of this and I'm asking you to pull the plug.
Ash: Last word.
Ripley: What?
Ash: I can't lie to you about your chances, but you have my sympathies.
Andrews: We're 25 prisoners in this facility. All double-Y chromos. All thieves, rapists, murderers, child-molesters. All scum. Just because they have taken on religion doesn't make them any less dangerous. I try not to offend their convictions. I don't want to upset the order. I don't want ripples in the water. And I don't want a woman walking around, giving them ideas.
Ripley: I see. For my own personal safety.
Andrews: Exactly.
Ripley: This is a maximum security prison, and you have no weapons of any kind?
Andrews: We have some carving knives in the abattoir, a few more in the mess hall. Some fire axes scattered about the place - nothing terribly formidable.
Ripley: That's all?
Andrews: We're on the honor system.
Ripley: Then we're fucked.
Ripley: What's this eighty-five thing?
David: Couple of us sneaked a look at his personnel file the day he arrived. That's his IQ.
Distephano: I thought you were dead!
Ripley 8: Yeah, I get that a lot.
Ripley 8: So, who do I have to fuck to get off this boat?
Johner: I can get you off. Maybe not the boat, but...
[The alien queen advances on Newt.]
Ripley: Get away from her you bitch!
Ripley: You know Burke? I don't know which species is worse. You don't see them fucking each other over for a goddamn percentage.
Ripley: Newt, look at me. Where are they?
Newt: They're dead! All right? Can I go now?
Ripley: How many drops is this for you Lieutenant?
Gorman: Thirty eight... Simulated.
Vasquez: How many combat drops?
Gorman: Uh, two. Including this one.
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