Dogma

See, your exploits, no matter how inane are well documented in heaven. Probably hell too.

— You knew Christ?
— Knew him? Shit, nigga owes me 12 bucks.

No wonder he saw Jesus. Homey's rocking the ganj.

You should know better than anyone here that tits don't make a woman. <...> What traditionally defines a woman falls between two things: Her legs.

Had we been given free will, we could choose to ignore the pain, like they do. But no! We're servants!

— Were they sent to Hell?
— Worse. Wisconsin.

Tone down your behavior. Stay off their respective radars.

Oh, now what was that all about?

You people. If there isn't a movie about it, it's not worth knowing, is it?

— Let me get this straight. You don't believe in God because of Alice in Wonderland?
— No, Through the Looking Glass. That poem, "The Walrus and the Carpenter" is an indictment of organized religion.

So you were an artist — big deal. Elvis was an artist, but that didn't stop him from joining the service in time of war. That's why he's the King... and you're a schmuck.

It doesn't matter what you have faith in, Just that you have faith.

I am a seraphim. The highest choir of angels.

Snootch to the motherfucking nootch! Go back to your paper routes, you Mighty Duck Fucks!

— Let's say we're caught in a situation where we have five minutes left to live. A bomb or something's gonna go off. Would you fuck us then?
— In that highly unlikely situation? Yeah, sure.
— Yeah? She's a slut.

Do you know what makes a human being decent? Fear. And therein lies the problem. None of you has anything to fear anymore. You rest comfortably in seats of inscrutable power, hiding behind your false idol, far from judgement — lives shrouded in secrecy even from one another. But not from God.