The Rock

— Well, there's a problem, sir. He's got a gun.
— What do you have, a fuckin' water pistol?

Your best? Losers always whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the prom queen.

— Oh, just some terrorists decided to send a little care package, box of goodies... which had to be neutralized before blowing up the office. So I took the rest of the day off. Glass of wine, little guitar. Just relaxing. The world is being Fed-Ex'd to hell on a handcart. I really believe that anyone who's even thinking about having a child in this world... is coldly considering an act of cruelty. I know, I'm rambling, I'm complaining. I'm sorry. What's your news, baby?
— I'm pregnant.

— You enjoying this?
— Well, it's certainly more enjoyable than my average day. Reading philosophy, avoiding gang rape in the washroom. Though it's less of a problem these days. Maybe I'm losing my sex appeal.

Hey, Stan, listen, I'm gettin' out of this government shithole. I'm goin' over to Orkin to design roach motels. Cool, huh?

We'll be branded as traitors, the gravest capital crime. Punishable by death. A couple hundred years ago... a few guys named Washington, Jefferson and Adams... were branded as traitors by the British. And now they're called patriots. In time, so shall we.

— Captain, I guess you didn't quite take care of the rat problem.
— No, sir.
— Well, there are two dead men here... who strongly suggest you go finish the job.