There's this passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley of the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee."[1] I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you heard it, that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. See, now I'm thinkin', maybe it means you're the evil man, and I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9mm here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or, it could mean you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin', Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be the shepherd.

Jules: What does Marsellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: [Flips table out of the way] What country are you from?
Brett: What?
Jules: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in "What?!"
Brett: What?
Jules: English, motherfucker! Do you speak it?
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Then you know what I'm saying. Describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What?
Jules: [Points gun at Brett] Say "what" again! Say - "what" - again! I dare you! I double-dare you motherfucker! Say "what" one more goddamn time!
Brett: He's black.
Jules: Go on!
Brett: He's bald.
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
Jules: [Shoots Brett in the shoulder] Does he LOOK like a bitch?!
Brett: No!
Jules: Then why'd you try to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't!
Jules: Yes, you did! Yes, you did, Brett! You tried to fuck him. And Marsellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody except Mrs. Wallace. You read the Bible, Brett?
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Well, there's this passage I've got memorized that sort of fits this occasion. Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of the evil men. Blessed is he who, in the name of charity and goodwill, shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper, and the finder of lost children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"[1] [Shoots Brett]

You have a corpse in a car, minus a head, in the garage. Take me to it.

I'm prepared to scour the Earth for that motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indo-China, I want a nigga hidin' in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.

Mia Wallace: Don't you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don't know. That's a good question.
Mia: That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

Jules: I don't wanna hear about no motherfuckin' ifs. All I wanna hear from your ass is, "You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggers out and wait for the cavalry, which should be coming directly."
Marsellus: You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggers out and wait for the Wolf, who should be coming directly.
Jules: You sending the Wolf??
Marsellus: Oh, you feel better, motherfucker?
Jules: Shit, negro, that's all you had to say.

I'm Winston Wolfe. I solve problems.

Toluca Lake. It's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten.

What now? Let me tell you what now. I'm gonna call a couple of hard-pipe-hittin' niggas to go to work on the homes here with a pair o' pliers and a blow torch. You hear me talking hillbilly boy? I aight through wit chu not a damn sight. I'm gonna get medieval on your ass!

Are you talking to me on a cellular phone? I don't know you, who is this? Don't come here, I'm hanging up the phone, prank caller, prank caller!

Normally, both of your sorry asses would be deader than fucking fried chicken by now, but you happened to pull this shit while I'm in a transitional period so I don't wanna kill you, I wanna help you. But I can't give you what's in this case, it doesn't belong to me. Besides, I've already been through too much shit this morning over this case to just hand it over to your dumb asses.

Hamburgers! The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast!

Pumpkin: The way it is now, you're taking the same risk as when you rob a bank. You take more of a risk, banks are easier. You don't even need a gun in a federal bank. I mean, they're insured, why should they give a fuck? I heard of this one guy, walks into a bank with a portable phone. He gives the phone to the teller, a guy on the other end of the line says, we've got this guy's little girl, if you don't give him all your money, we're gonna kill her.
Honey Bunny: Did it work?
Pumpkin: Fucking-A right, it worked. That's what I'm saying. Knucklehead walks into a bank with a telephone! Not a pistol, not a shotgun, but a fucking phone. Cleans the place out, doesn't even lift a fucking finger.
Honey Bunny: Did they hurt the little girl?
Pumpkin: I don't know, there probably never was a little girl in the first place. The point of the story isn't the little girl, the point of the story is, they robbed a bank with a telephone.
Honey Bunny: You want to rob banks?
Pumpkin: I'm not saying I want to rob banks, I'm just illustrating that if we did, it'd be easier than what we've been doing.
Honey Bunny: No more liquor stores?
Pumpkin: What have we been talking about? Yeah, no more liquor stores. Besides, it ain't the giggle it used to be. Too many foreigners own liquor stores these days. Vietnamese, Koreans, they don't even speak fucking English. You tell them, empty out the register, they don't know what the fuck you're talking about. They make it too personal, one of these gook fuckers is gonna make us kill him.
Honey Bunny: I'm not gonna kill anybody.
Pumpkin: I don't want to kill anybody either. But they'll probably put us in a situation where it's us or them. And if it's not the gooks, it's these old fucking Jews who've owned the store for fifteen fucking generations, you've got Grampa Irving sitting behind the counter with a fucking Magnum in his hand. Try walking into one of those places with nothing but a phone, see how far you get.
Honey Bunny: So what then, day jobs?
Pumpkin: Not in this life.
Honey Bunny: What then?
...
Honey Bunny: This place? A coffee shop?
Pumpkin: Why not? Nobody ever robs restaurants. Bars, liquor stores, gas stations... you get your head blown off sticking up one of them. Restaurants on the other hand, you catch with their pants down. They're not expecting to get robbed. Not as expectant anyway.
Honey Bunny: I bet you could cut down on the hero factor in a place like this.
Pumpkin: Right, just like banks, these places are insured. Manager? He don't give a fuck. He just wants to get you out the door before you start plugging the diners. Waitresses? Fucking forget it! No way they're taking a bullet for the register. Busboys? Some wetback getting paid a dollar-fifty an hour, really give a fuck you're stealing from the owner? Customers are sitting there with food in their mouths, they don't know what's going on. One minute they're having a Denver omelette, next minute somebody's sticking a gun in their face. See, I got the idea, last liquor store we held up, all the customers kept coming in?
Honey Bunny: Yeah.
Pumpkin: And you got the idea of taking their wallets. Now that was a good idea.
Honey Bunny: Thank you.
Pumpkin: Made more from the wallets than we did from the register.
Honey Bunny: Yes, we did.
Pumpkin: A lot of customers come into a restaurant.
Honey Bunny: A lot of wallets.
Pumpkin: Pretty smart, eh?
Honey Bunny: Pretty smart!
...
Honey Bunny: I love you, Pumpkin.
Pumpkin: I love you, Honey Bunny. [Stands and brandishes a gun] Everybody be cool, this is a robbery!
Honey Bunny: Any of you fuckin' pricks move and I'll execute every motherfucking last one of you!

Vincent: Remember, I just got back from Amsterdam.
Lance: Am I a nigger? Are we in Inglewood? No... You're in my home. White people who know the difference between good shit and bad shit, this is the house they come to. Now, my shit, I'll take the Pepsi challenge with that Amsterdam shit, any day of the fuckin' week.
Vincent: That's a bold statement.
Lance: This ain't Amsterdam, Vince. This is a sellers market. Coke is fucking dead as... dead. Heroin, it's coming back in a big fucking way.

Jules: Whoa... whoa... whoa... stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing.
Vincent: It's not, it's the same ballpark.
Jules: It ain't no fuckin' ballpark either. Now look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but you know, touchin' his wife's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holiest of holies, ain't the same ballpark, it ain't the same league, it ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages - I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: Given a lot of 'em?
Jules: Shit yeah. I got my technique down and everything, I don't be tickling or nothin'.
Vincent:Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You give them a lot?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You know, I'm getting kinda tired, I could use a foot massage myself.
Jules: Yo yo yo man, you best back off, I'm gittin' pissed here. [...] Look, just 'cause I wouldn't give no man a foot massage don't make it right for Marsellus to throw Antoine into a glass motherfuckin' house fuckin' up the way the nigger talks. That shit ain't right. Motherfucker do that shit to me, he better paralyze my ass cuz I'll kill the motherfucker, you know what I'm sayin'?
Vincent: I ain't sayin' it's right. But you're sayin' a foot massage don't mean nothing, and I'm saying it does. Now look, I've given a million ladies a million foot massages, and they all meant something. We act like they don't, but they do, and that's what's so fucking cool about them. There's a sensuous thing going on where you don't talk about it, but you know it, she knows it, fucking Marsellus knew it, and Antoine should have fucking better known better. I mean, that's his fucking wife, man, he can't be expected to have a sense of humor about that shit. You know what I'm saying?
Jules: That's an interesting point.

I'll be down in two shakes of a lamb's tail.

Vincent Vega, my nigga! Get your motherfuckin' white ass over here!

The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts, it never helps.

I think you are gonna find, when this shit is over... I think you're gonna find yourself one smilin' motherfucker. The thing is Butch, right now, you've got ability. But painful as it may be, ability don't last. And your days are just about over. Now that's a hard motherfuckin' fact of life. But it's a fact of life your ass is gonna hafta get realistic about. See this business is filled to the brim with unrealistic motherfuckers. Motherfuckers who thought their ass would age like wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar, it does. If you mean it gets better with age, it don't. Besides Butch, how many fights you think you got left in you anyway? Two? Boxers don't have an "old timer's pension." You came close, but you never made it, and if you were gonna make it, you woulda made it before now.

I ain't never done it before either alright, I ain't starting now. Look, you brought her here, and that means you're gonna give her the shot. The day that I bring an O.D.-in' bitch to your house, then I give her the shot, give her the shot.

Zed's dead baby, Zed's dead.

Sorry baby, I had to crash that Honda.

Why didn't you say something, Marvin? Slipped your mind? You forgot to mention someone's in the bathroom with a goddamn handcannon?!?

Oh man, I just shot Marvin in the face.

So you're gonna go out there, drink your drink, say "Goodnight, I've had a very lovely evening," go home, jerk off. And that's all you're gonna do. To himself.