The Sofa-Bed - S1-E1
Jackie: And Martin! How many times do I have to tell you? Stop eating out of the bin!
Johnny: Classic.
Adam: Classic.
Michael: You humans take something wonderful and ruin it just a little bit so you can have more.
The Tragedy at Marsdon Manor - S3-E6
Samuel Naughton: Was the accomodation all right?
Hercule Poirot: No, monsieur Naughton. The accomodation was all wrong.
Samuel Naughton: Oh...
Hercule Poirot: The duck-feather pillows. It feels as if the duck are still in them. (00:14:50)
Earthanasia AKA The End of the World Show - S7-E6
Bill: Christmases come, Christmases go. They're all the ruddy same - no one ever remembers them.
The Fonz: You're dreaming about a girl you've never met?
Richie Cunningham: Come on, Fonz, haven't you ever dreamed?
The Fonz: Hey I'm not the dreamer! I'm the dreamee.
Hank Moody: You're so beautiful you're almost ugly.
Chapter 12 - S2-E2
Oro Dassyne: I wonder how many they'll send. We've got so much firepower in here, these walls are ray-shielded. They can't take this fort. It'll probably be, uh, fifty Jedi. They'll need at least that many. Huh, maybe a hundred Jedi! They'll never take this base with less. Ha, they'll need an army of Jedi!
Battle Droid: I have a visual.
Oro Dassyne: Jedi?
Battle Droid: I think so.
Oro Dassyne: How many? A thousand?
Battle Droid: No.
Oro Dassyne: Eighty?
Battle Droid: No, sir.
Oro Dassyne: What? Fifty?
Battle Droid: Less.
Oro Dassyne: Forty? Come on, how many?
Battle Droid: Two.
Oro Dassyne: What?! Give me those!
Mickey 'Bricks' Stone: Albert, what the hell were you doing in a church today?
Albert Stroller: Gil Stewart died this afternoon. I was there at the end.
Mickey 'Bricks' Stone: Oh God, I'm so sorry Albert. You two were like brothers.
Albert Stroller: We worked Vegas together. That man was made for bright lights. Poor bastard - died of a stroke in a dental surgery.
Mickey 'Bricks' Stone: Well, someone should sue them.
Albert Stroller: Aye, he was pretending to be the dentist.
Mac Taylor: You're not a doctor. You're a murderer with a medical degree.
Michael Knight: I need ya buddy.
KITT: Right away Michael.
Coach Toomey: Actually, Burdett never made the team.
Carl Kolchak: No?
Coach Toomey: You see, his butterfly stroke was like an effeminate moth.
Adam Demamp: I'm like one of those dragons from Avatar.
Rev. Morgan Hamilton: We cannot fight hate with hate. What are we teaching our children today? That will make things better tomorrow?
Stephen Fry: When I was seventeen I had already tried fourteen different jobs, married twice, fathered many many many many children, eaten a perfectly enormous quantity of food over a long time period, been weaned off six types of class A dangerous drug, given up smoking, taken it up again, given it up again, taken it up again, given taking it up and taken giving it up again and again and again and again. By the time I was twenty, alcohol had never passed my lips, yet I was a reckless and predatory alcoholic: my life was in pieces, my marriages were shattered, my children lay in ruins, I was paying alimony along the sinuses, behind the dark interior passages of the skull and through the nose. But at thirty, at thirty came the chance to redeem a bin-liner of broken promises. If I didn't take that chance what would I be? What would I become? Just another friendless acid spot on the back buttock of a weeping society. So I took it, took the chance, picked up the ball and ran, went for it, threw caution to the teeth of the gale, never looked back, just keep running, I did it. Forget the past, there's nothing there, not even memories, just a road you never travelled unwinding backwards to a place you never came from, where fruit grows on trees you never climbed, in an orchard where you lost your virginity to a boy called Timothy who died of Horlicks poisoning before you were born. No answers there...
Hugh Laurie: tephen, Stephen, Stephen, Stephen.
Stephen Fry: Yes?
Hugh Laurie: Go and have a lie down.
Stephen Fry: OK. [walks off.].
Lt. Horatio Caine: You're evil, you enjoy death, and I hope you enjoy your own.
Kunta Kinti: What's snow, Fiddler?
Fiddler: Never you mind, boy, never you mind. Let's get on back to home. I got enough trouble teaching you the difference between manure and massa. 'Course there ain't all that much difference when you gets right down to it.
Michael Kyle: Well, guess what Junior? You're from the mean streets of Stamford, Connecticut.