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Pulp Fiction
Butch Coolidge
- This is America, honey. Our names don't mean shit.
- It's not a motorcycle, it's a chopper, baby.
- Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.
Captain Koons
- Hello, little man. Boy, I sure heard a bunch about you. See, I was a good friend of your Daddy's. We were in that Hanoi pit-of-hell over five years together. Hopefully, you'll never have to experience this yourself, but when two men are in a situation like me and your Daddy were, for as long as we were, you take on certain responsibilities of the other. If it had been me, who had not made it, Major Coolidge would be talkin' right now to my son, Jim. But the way it worked out is I'm talkin' to you, Butch. I got somethin' for you.
This watch I got here was first purchased by your great-granddaddy. It was bought during the First World War in a little general store in Knoxville, Tennessee. It was bought by Privat Ernie Coolidge the day he set sail for France. It was your great-granddaddy's war watch, made by the first company to ever make wristwatches. You see, up until then, people just carried pocketwatches. Your great-granddaddy wore that watch every day he was in the war. Then when he had done his duty, he went home to your great-grandmother, took the watch off his wrist and put it an ol' coffee can. And in that can it stayed 'til your grandfather Dane Coolidge was called upon by his country to go overseas and fight again, this time against the Japanese.
This time they called it World War Two. Your great-granddaddy gave it to your granddad for good luck. Unfortunately, Dane's luck wasn't as good as his dad's. Your granddad was a Marine and he was killed at the battle of Wake Island. Your granddad was facing death and he knew it. None of those boys had any illusions about ever leavin' that island alive. So three days before the Japanese took the island, your 22-year-old grandfather asked a crewman on an Air Corps transport plane named Winocki, a man he had never met before in his life, to deliver to his infant son, who he had never seen in the flesh, his gold watch. Three days later, your grandfather was dead. But Winocki kept his word. After the war was over, he paid a visit to your grandmother, delivering to your infant father, his Dad's gold watch. This watch.
This watch was on your Daddy's wrist when his plane was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured and put in a North Vietnamese prison camp. Now he knew if the gooks ever saw the watch it'd be confiscated. Taken away. The way your Daddy looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He'd be damned if any slopeheads were gonna put their greasy yella hands on his boy's birthright. So he hid it, in the one place he knew he could hide something; his ass. Five long years he wore this watch, up his ass. Then, just before he died of amoebic dysentery, he gave me the watch. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass for two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, little man, I give the watch to you.
Jules Winnfield
- 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.
- I wouldn't go so far as to call the brother fat. He's got a weight problem. What's the nigger gonna do? He's Samoan.
- Hamburgers! The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast!
- Check out the big brain on Brett!
- MmmmMMM! This is a tasty burger!
- Shit yeah, Negro! That's all you had to say!
- What happened here today was a miracle and I want you to fucking acknowledge it!
- Yolanda, I thought you said you were gonna be cool. Now when you yell at me, it makes me nervous. And when I get nervous, I get scared. And when motherfuckers get scared, that's when motherfuckers accidentally get shot. But I don't want that. And you don't want that. And Ringo here definitely doesn't want that.
- Man, you best back off, I'm gittin' little pissed.
- Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration?
- If my answers frighten you Vincent, then you should cease asking scary questions.
- Well yeah. I was just sitting here, eating my muffin when I had what alcholics refer to as a moment of clarity.
- I'm the foot fuckin' master!
Marsellus Wallace
- 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 bussiness is filled to the brim with unrealistic motherfuckers. Motherfuckers who thought their ass would age like fine 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 day." You came close, but you never made it, and if you were gonna make it, you woulda made it before now.
- 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.
- What now? Let me tell you what now. I'm gonna call a couple of hard, pipe-hittin' niggers to go to work on the "homes" here, with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. You hear me talkin' hillbilly boy? I ain't through with you by a damn sight. I'm gonna get medieval on your ass.
- Two things: One, you leave town tonight, and when you're gone, you STAY gone or you'll BE gone. You lost all your L.A. privileges. Two: don't ever tell no one about this. This thing here is between me, you and mister "soon to be living the rest of his short-ass life in agonizing pain" rapist here.
- I'm prepared to scour the Earth for that motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indo-China, I want a nigger hidin' in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.
Maynard
- Holster your weapon, take your foot off the nigger, and stand up slowly with your hands behind your head.
- Zed? Maynard. Spider just caught a couple of flies.
- Nobody kills anybody in my place of business except me or Zed. [Doorbell rings] That's Zed.
Mia Wallace
- I'll be down in two shakes of a lamb's tail.
- No, no, no. You can't promise something like that. So you can go ahead and ask me what you were going to ask me, and my natural response could be to get offended, then, through no fault of my own, I would have broken my promise.
- That's a little bit more information than I needed Vince, but go right ahead.
Vincent Vega
- Still I have to say, if you play with matches, you'll get burned.
- Now look, I've given a million ladies a million foot massages, and they all meant something, we act as if they don't but they do, that's what so fuckin' cool about them. There is a sensual thing goin' on where you don't talk about it, but you know it, she knows it, fuckin' Marcellus knew it, and Antwan should have fuckin' known better. I mean, that's his fuckin' wife man, he ain't gonna have a sense of humor about that shit, you know that I'm saying...
- Aw, man... I shot Marvin in the face.
- Jules, you give that fucking nimrod fifteen hundred dollars, and I'll shoot him on general principles.
- Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Winston Wolf
- Toluca Lake. It's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten.
- You have a corpse in a car, minus a head, in the garage. Take me to it.
- You know what you two look like? Like a couple of guys who just blew off somebody's head.
- Stripping off those bloody rags is absolutely necessary.
- Well, let's not start sucking each other's dicks quite yet.
- How about you Lash Laroo? Think you can keep your spurs from jingling and jangling?
Yolanda
- Any of you fuckin' pricks move, and I'll execute every mother fuckin' last one of you!
Zed
Multiple Characters
- Jules: Okay, so tell me again about the hash bars?
Vincent: Okay, so what'cha want to know?
Jules: Hash is legal there, right?
Vincent: 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. I mean, they want you to smoke in your home or certain designated places.
Jules: And those are hash bars?
Vincent: Yeah, it breaks down like this: okay, 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, but - but that doesn't matter 'cause -- get a load of this, allright -- if you get stopped by a cop in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have.
Jules: Oh, man, I'm goin', that's all there is to it -- I'm fuckin' goin'.
Vincent: I know baby. You dig it the most. But 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: Allright, 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'd they call it?
Vincent: They call it a "Royale with Cheese."
Jules: (repeating) "Royale with Cheese."
Vincent: Thats right.
Jules: What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent: 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. You know what they put on french fries in Holland instead of ketchup?
Jules: What?
Vincent: Mayonnaise.
Jules: God damn!
Vincent: I seen 'em do it, man, they fuckin' drown 'em in that shit.
Jules: Yuck.
- Jules: What does Marsellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: 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: Say "what" again! Say "what" again motherfucker! 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 Brett. Yes, you did. You tried to fuck him. But 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 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 are they, who in the name of charity and goodwill, shepherd the weak through the valley of darkness, for they are truly their brothers' keepers and the finders 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!"
- Jules: No, no, this wasn't luck. This was divine intervention. You know what divine intervention is Vincent?
Vincent: I think so. It means God came down from Heaven and stopped the bullets.
Jules: That's right! That's exactly what it means. God came down from heaven and stopped these motherfuckin' bullets.
- 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: 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. Wolf, it's not like that. Your help is definitely appreciated.
Vincent: Look Mr Wolf, 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: Oh, man. I will never forgive your ass for this shit. This is some fucked-up repugnant shit.
Vincent: Did you ever hear the philosophy that once a man admits he is wrong, he is immediately forgiven for all wrong-doing? Have you ever heard that?
Jules: Get the fuck out my face with that shit. The motherfucker who said that shit never had to pick up no itty-bitty pieces of skull on account of your dumb ass.
Vincent: I've got a threshold Jules. I have a threshold for the abuse I will take. Now all I'm saying is I'm a race car. And right now you got me in the fuckin' red. And all I'm saying is it's dangerous to keep a race car in the fuckin' red. I could blow.
Jules: Oh, oh, you ready to blow? Well, I'm a mushroom cloud-layin' motherfucker, motherfucker. Everytime my fingers touch brain, I'm "SUPERFLY TNT", I'm "THE GUNS OF NAVARONE". In fact, what the fuck am I doing in the back? You're the motherfucker who should be on brain detail. We're fucking switching. I'm washing the windows and you're picking up this nigger's skull.
- Marcellus Wallace: You my nigger?
(Butch tries to grab the money, without answering. Marcellus doesn't let him)
Marcellus Wallace: You my nigger?
Butch: It would certainly appear so.
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