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.

Oh man, I just shot Marvin in the face.

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.

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

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

Chill out man, I told you it was an accident, we probably went over a bump or something.

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.

If my answers frighten you Vincent, then you should cease asking scary questions.

Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No man, I don’t eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that’s all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Yeah, but bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops taste gooood.
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know ‘cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eatin' nothin' that ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dog eats its own feces.
Jules: I don't eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy but they're definitely dirty. A dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well we'd have to be talkin' about one charmin' motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?
Vincent: [laughing] That's good.

Jules: Oh, man. I will never forgive your ass for this shit. This is some fucked-up repugnant shit.
Vincent: Jules, did you ever hear the philosophy that once a man admits that he is wrong, he is immediately forgiven for all wrong-doings? Have you ever heard that?
Jules: Get the fuck out my face with that shit. The motherfucker said that shit never had to pick up itty-bitty pieces of skull on account of your dumb ass.
Vincent: I've got a threshold Jules. I've got a threshold for the abuse that I will take. Now right now I'm a fuckin' race car, alright? And you got me in the red. And I'm just saying, I'm just saying that it's fuckin' dangerous to have a race car in the fuckin' red, that's all. I could blow.
Jules: Oh, oh, you ready to blow?
Vincent: Yeah, I'm ready to blow.
Jules: Well, I'm a mushroom cloud-layin' motherfucker, motherfucker. Every time my fingers touch brain, I'm "SUPERFLY TNT." I'm "THE GUNS OF THE NAVARONE." In fact, what the fuck am I doing in the back? You're the motherfucker should be on brain detail. We're fucking switching. I'm washing the windows and you're picking up this nigger's skull.

Vincent: A please would be nice.
The Wolf: Come again?
Vincent: I said a please would be nice.
The Wolf: Get it straight, Buster. I'm not here to say please. I'm here to tell you what to do. And if self-preservation is an instinct you possess, you better fuckin' do it and do it quick. I'm here to help. If my help's not appreciated, lots of luck, gentlemen.
Jules: No no Mr. Wolfe, it's not like that. Your help is definitely appreciated.
Vincent: Look Mr Wolfe, I respect you. I just don't like people barking orders at me, that's all.
The Wolf: If I'm curt with you, it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you two guys to act fast if you want to get out of this. So, pretty please, with sugar on top... clean the fuckin' car!

Jules: Fuck nigger, what the fuck did you just do to his towel, man?
Vincent: I was dryin' my hands.
Jules: You're supposed to wash them first!
Vincent: Well you watched me wash them!
Jules: I watched you get 'em wet!
Vincent: I was washing 'em...this shit's hard to get off. Maybe if I had Lava I could have done a better job.
Jules: I used the same fucking soap you did and when I finished the towel didn't look like no goddamn maxi-pad. What if Jimmie was to come in here and see his towel like this, Vincent! It's shit like this that's gonna bring this situation to a head, man!

Vincent: You know what the funniest thing about Europe is?
Jules: What?
Vincent: It's the little differences. I mean they got the same shit over there that they got here, but it's just - it's just there it's a little different.
Jules: Examples?
Vincent: Alright, well you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam and buy a beer. And I don't mean just like in no paper cup, I'm talking about a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer at McDonald's. And you know what they call a, uh, a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?
Vincent: Nah, man, they got the metric system, they wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules: What do they call it?
Vincent: They call it a "Royale with Cheese."[2]
Jules: "Royale with Cheese."
Vincent: Thats right.
Jules: What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "Le Big Mac."
Jules: "Le Big Mac." [laughs] What do they call a Whopper?
Vincent: I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King. But, you know what they put on french fries in Holland instead of ketchup?
Jules: What?
Vincent: Mayonnaise.
Jules: Yuck!
Vincent: I seen 'em do it, man, they fuckin' drown 'em in that shit.

Jules: So, tell me again about the hash bars?
Vincent: Okay, what you wanna know?
Jules: Hash is legal there right?
Vincent: Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't a hundred percent legal. I mean, you can't walk into a restaurant, roll a joint and start puffin' away. You're only supposed to smoke in your home or certain designated places.
Jules: And those are hash bars?
Vincent: It breaks down like this: it's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it, and, if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's legal to carry it, but that doesn't really matter 'cause - get a load of this - if you get stopped by the cops in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have.
Jules: [Laughing] I'm going, that's all there is too it, I'm fucking going
Vincent: Yeah baby, you'd dig it the most.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go home and have a heart attack.

You don't fuck with another man's vehicle. It's just against the rules.