Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri

Firstly, I wanted to apologize for dying without catching your daughter's killer. It's a source of great pain to me, and it would break my heart to think you thought I didn't care, 'cause I did care. There are just some cases... where you never catch a break... then five years down the line some guy hears some other guy bragging about it in a bar room or a jail cell and the whole thing is wrapped up through sheer stupidity. I hope that might be true for Angela.

— And what can I do for you today, sir?
— What's your name?
— Name's on my tag, man. You hard of reading?
— Hard of reading? No, no. That's good, "hard of reading." Kinda like "hard of hearing," but it's actually "hard of reading." Like a play on words or something, huh?
— What do you want?
— I've been sent down to take over from... Chief Willoughby in light of last night's unfortunate event.
— You have got to be fucking kidding me!
— Do you have any documentation to prove that, sir?
— You really wanna see my documentation, fucker?
— Yeah, see his documentation! Make him show it to you.
— None of you cracker motherfuckers got no work to do?
— Ain't that racist?

— Will they give you some money for being laid off and all?
— I don't know what the compensation scheme is for when you throw a guy out of a window, Ma. Guess I should have looked into that beforehand. Let me Google that.
— A couple of grand, maybe? You been there three years. Not counting the five years at the academy. Six... if you count the year you were held back.

— Oh, what's this shit?
— ... And as sad as the spectacle of these burned out billboards might be, in light of the death of Chief Willoughby, this reporter for one wonders if this finally puts an end to the strange saga
of the three billboards outside...
— This doesn't put an end to shit, you fucking retard! This is just the fucking start! Why don't you put that on your «Good Morning Missouri» fucking «Wake Up» broadcast, bitch!

— Next most important thing, you do not at any stage allow the fishing rods to stick into you or your sister's eyeballs, as this would be counter-productive to the entire operation. What would it be?
— Counter-productive to the entire operation.
— Then, troops... start fishing.

— He said what? To your face?
— No crime has been committed here.
— Oh, come on. Defamation of character ain't a crime?
— It isn't defamation if she's simply asking a question.
— What are you, an idiot?
— Don't call me an idiot, Dixon!
— I didn't call you an idiot. I asked if you was an idiot. That was a question.

— You don't think I don't wish it had never happened? You don't think I don't wish she was still here?
— I know you do. I know you do.
— Billboards ain't gonna bring her back, Mildred.
— Neither is fucking 19-year-olds, Charlie.

— Ain't contravening no laws on propriety. Ain't contravening no laws on any fucking thing. I checked all this out.
— And where'd you check all this out?
— In a... a book.
— Which book, genius?
— Book called «Suck My Ass, It's None Of Your Business».

— I'd do anything to catch the guy who did it, Mrs. Hayes. But when the DNA don't match no one who's ever been arrested, and when the DNA don't match any other crime nationwide, and when there wasn't a single eyewitness from the time she'd left your house to the time we found her, well... right now there ain't too much more we can do.
— Could pull blood from every man and boy in this town over the age of eight.
— There's civil rights laws prevents that, Mrs. Hayes. And what if he was just passing through town?
— Pull blood from every man in the country, then.
— Then what if he was just passing through the country?
— If it was me, I'd start up a database. Every male baby what's born, stick them on it, and as soon as he done something wrong, cross-reference it, make 100% certain it was a correct match, then kill him.
— Yeah, well, there's... definitely civil rights laws prevents that.