Seth Gecko

— I'm not gonna drain you completely. You'll be my slave. Because I don't think you're worthy of human blood, you'll feed on the blood of stray dogs. You'll be my foot stool. And at my command, you'll lick the dog shit from my boot heel. Since you'll be my dog, your new name will be Spot. Welcome to slavery.
— No, thanks. I already had a wife.

— Do you want to live through this?
— Yes.
— Good. Then let me explain the house rules. Follow the rules, we'll get along like a house on fire. Rule number one: No noise, no question. You make a noise... Mr. 45 makes a noise. You ask a question, Mr. 45 answers it. Now are you absolutely, positively clear about rule number one?
— Yes.
— Rule number two: You do what we say, when we say it. If you don't, see rule number one. Seth takes the.45, places the barrel next to the woman's cheek. She squirms and shuts her eyes. He pulls back the hammer. Rule number three: Don't you ever try and fuckin' run on us. 'Cause I got five little friends, and they all run faster 'n you can. Got it?

— What is this?
— It's called a punch.

— They look like psychos?
— Is that what they looked like? They were vampires. Psychos do not explode when sunlight hits them. I don't give a fuck how crazy they are!

I'm peachy, Kate. The world is my oyster. Except for the fact that I just... I just rammed a wooden stake into my brother's chest, because he turned into a vampire. Even though I don't believe in vampires. Aside from that unfortunate business, everything is hunky-dory.

— Why, out of all the godforsaken shit holes in Mexico do we have to meet here?
— One place is just as good as another.
— You ever been here before?
— No. I drove by it a couple times. It's a rowdy place. It's out in the middle of nowhere. There'll be no cops. And it's open from dusk till dawn.

Richie. Here is the peace in death, that I could not give you in life.

— Look. You asked me to act natural and I acted natural. Under the circumstances, I think I oughta get a fuckin' Academy Award for how natural I'm actin'. You asked me to get rid of him. I'm doin' my best!
— Well, your best better get a hell of a lot fuckin' better or you are gonna feel a hell of a lot fuckin' worse.

— You, plant yourself in that seat.
— What are you gonna do with me?
— I said "plant yourself." Plants don't talk. Now, you wanna get on my good side? You sit still and you don't make a peep.

— Low profile! Do you understand the meaning of the words "low profile"?
— Hey, Richie, how's your hand? It hurts like a fuckin' son of a bitch! Thanks for askin'.
— Let me tell you what "low profile" is not. It is not taking girls hostage. It is not shooting police. It is not setting fire to a building.
— Bitch, bitch, bitch.

— What the hell do you want?
— What do you think I want, you mean, old bastard? I want a fuckin' room.
— Okay, all right.

— So what's the story with you two? You a couple of fags?
— He's my son.
— How's that happened? You don't look Japanese.
— Neither does he. He looks Chinese.

— Is this real?
— Yes.
— I've seen one of these before. A friend of mine had himself declared a minister of his own religion. Away to fuck the IRS.