John McClane

— Something had to get you off the street. What's the matter?
— You don't think a desk job is a noble effort for a cop?
— No.
— I had an accident.
— The way you drive, I can see why. What'd you do? Run over your captain's foot with the car?

Just once, I'd like a regular, normal Christmas. Eggnog, a fuckin' Christmas tree, a little turkey. But, no! I gotta crawl around in this motherfuckin' tin can!

— Excuse me, Officers. This may sound like a wild-goose chase, but I think I just saw...
— Saw what?
— Elvis. Elvis Presley.

— You don't like flying, do you?
— What gives you that idea?
— You wanna know the secret to surviving air travel? After you get where you're going, take off your shoes and socks. Then you walk around on the rug barefoot and make fists with your toes.
— Fists with your toes?
— I know. It sounds crazy. Trust me. I've been doing it for nine years. Yes, sir! Better than a shower and a hot cup of coffee.
— OK. [the businessman sees a gun in McClane's pocket] It's OK. I'm a cop. Trust me. I've been doing this for eleven years.

— I told you all I wanted radio silence until...
— I'm sorry, Hans. I didn't get that message. Maybe you should have put it on a bulletin board? I figured since I waxed Tony, Marco and his friend... you and Karl and Franco might be lonely so I wanted to give you a call.
— That's very kind of you. I assume you are our mysterious party crasher. You are troublesome... for a security guard.
— Eeeh! Sorry, Hans. Wrong guess. Would you like to go for double jeopardy? Mm, these are very bad for you.
— Who are you, then?
— Just the fly in the ointment, Hans. The monkey in the wrench, the pain in the ass.

— We don't want your help! I've got 100 people down here covered with glass!
— Glass? Who gives a shit about glass? Who the fuck is this?
— This is Deputy Chief of Police Dwayne T Robinson... and I am in charge of this situation.
— Oh, you're in charge? I got some bad news for you, Dwayne. From up here it doesn't look like you're in charge of shit.
— Listen to me, you little asshole...
— Asshole? I'm not the one who just got buttfucked on national TV, Dwayne. Listen to me, jerk-off... if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem. Quit being part of the problem and put the other guy back on!

Son of a bitch. Fists with your toes.

— Touching, cowboy. Touching. Or should I call you... Mr McClane? Mr Officer John McClane... of the New York Police Department?
— Sister Theresa called me Mr McClane in the third grade. My friends call me John... and you're neither, shithead.

— Can you identify yourself?
— Not now. Maybe later.
— Listen fast. This is a party line, and the neighbors got itchy trigger fingers.

— Say, I close in about an hour. Maybe we can go get a drink?
— Just the fax, ma'am. Just the fax.

— If you take away any one thing, no problem, but if you take it down all at once, the system crashes, and... look around, man!
— Come on, the government has got to have dozens of departments dedicated to that shit.
— It took FEMA 5 days to get water to the superdome.

As far as I'm concerned, progress peaked with frozen pizza.

— On your tombstone it shall read: "Always in the wrong place, at the wrong time"
— How about: "Yippi-kai-ay, mother fu..."