Pulp Fiction Quotes

(Page 2)

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3rd Story: “THE GOLD WATCH”


[towards the end of his long speech to five year old Butch telling him about Butch’s great grandfather’s watch]
Captain Koons: This watch. This watch was on your Daddy’s wrist when he was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured and put in a Vietnamese prison camp. Now he knew that if the gooks ever saw the watch it’d be confiscated, taken away. The way your Dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He’d be damned if any slopes were gonna put their greasy yella hands on his boy’s birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide somethin’. His ass. Five long years, he wore this watch up his ass. Then he died of dysentery, he gave me the watch. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. Now, little man, I give the watch to you.



[in the cab after Butch has left the boxing match]
Esmeralda: What does it feel like?
Butch: What does what feel like?
Esmeralda: Killing a man. Beating another man to death with your bare hands.
Butch: What are you a weirdo?
Esmeralda: No. It’s a subject I have much interested in. You are the first person I have ever met who has killed somebody. So, what does it feel like to kill a man?
Butch: Tell you what, you give me one of them cigarettes you got up there and I’ll tell you all about it.
[Esmeralda hands him a cigarette]


Esmeralda: And what is your name?
Butch: Butch.
Esmeralda: Butch. What does it mean?
Butch: I’m an American, honey. Our names don’t mean shit.


Esmeralda: I want to know what it feels like to kill a man…
Butch: I couldn’t tell ya. I didn’t know he was dead ’til you told me he was dead. Now I know he’s dead, do you wanna know how I feel about it?
[Esmeralda nods her head: “yes”]
Butch: I don’t feel the least bit bad about it.


[in the motel room]
I was looking at myself in the mirror.
Butch: Uh-huh?
Fabienne: I wish I had a pot.
Butch: You were lookin’ at yourself in the mirror and you wish you had some pot?
Fabienne: A pot. A pot belly. Pot bellies are sexy.
Butch: Well you should be happy, cause you have one.
Fabienne: Shut up, Fatso! I don’t have a pot! I have a bit of a tummy, like Madonna when she did “Lucky Star,” it’s not the same thing.
Butch: I didn’t know there was such a difference between a tummy and a pot belly.
Fabienne: The difference is huge.
Butch: Would you like it if I have a pot belly?
Fabienne: No. Pot bellies make a man look either oafish, or like a gorilla. But on a woman, a pot belly is very sexy. The rest of you is normal. Normal face, normal legs, normal hips, normal ass, but with a big, perfectly round pot belly. If I had one, I’d wear a tee-shirt two sizes too small to accentuate it.
Butch: You think men would find that attractive?
Fabienne: I don’t give a damn what men find attractive. It’s unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldom the same.


Butch: I think I cracked a rib.
Fabienne: Giving me oral pleasure?
Butch: No, retard, from the fight.

Where’s my watch?
Fabienne: It’s there.
Butch: No it’s not.
Fabienne: Have you looked?
Butch: Yes I’ve fuckin’ looked!! What the fuck do you think I’m doing?! Are you sure you got it?
Fabienne: Yes, bedside table drawer.
Butch: On the little kangaroo.
Fabienne: Yes, it was on a little kangaroo.
Butch: Yeah, well it’s not here now!
Fabienne: Well it should be.
Butch: Yes, it most definitely should be but it’s not here now, so where the fuck is it?


Butch: Now all this other shit, you could have set on fire, but I specifically reminded you not to forget the fucking watch. Now think did you get it?
Fabienne: I believe so.
Butch: You believe so? What the fuck does that mean? You either did, or you didn’t get it!
Fabienne: Then I did.
Butch: Are you sure?
[shakes her head]
Fabienne: No.
[explodes into a rampage]
Butch: Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Motherfucker! Motherfucking shit! Fucking whore! You fucking stupid! You fucking whore! No!
[he then calms down just as quickly and suddenly as he started]
Butch: It’s not your fault.


Butch: I’ll be back before you can say Blueberry pie.
Fabienne: Blueberry pie.
Butch: Maybe not that fast. But pretty fast. Okay?


[driving back to his apartment to get his watch Butch is beating the steering wheel and the dash with his fists]
Butch: Shit! Of all the fucking things she could fucking forget, she forgets my father’s watch! I specifically reminded her; bedside table! On the Kangaroo! I said the words, “Don’t forget my father’s watch.”


[Butch has stopped at traffic lights. Then we see Marsellus Wallace, clearly for the first time, crossing the street in front of Butch’s car, he stops midway and looks at Butch]
Marsellus: Motherfucker!


[after knocking Butch unconscious trying to stop Butch from killing Marsellus in his pawn shop, Maynard makes a call]
Maynard: Zed? It’s Maynard. Yeah, the spider just caught a coupl’a flies.


[talking to Butch and Marsellus who are sitting tied to chairs with S&M-style ball gags in their mouths]
Maynard: Nobody kills anybody in my place of business ‘cept me or Zed.
[doorbell rings]
Maynard: That’s Zed.



Zed: Well, bring out the Gimp.
Maynard: But the Gimp’s sleeping.
Zed: Well, I guess you’re gonna have to go wake him up now, won’t you?


[after Butch saves Marsellus from being raped by Zed and Maynard]pulp-fiction-25
Butch: You okay?
Marsellus: No, man. I’m pretty fuckin’ far from okay.
Butch: What now?
Marsellus: What now? Let me tell you what now. I’ma call a coupla hard, pipe-hittin’ niggers, who’ll go to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow torch.
[to Zed]
Marsellus: You hear me talkin’, hillbilly boy? I ain’t through with you by a damn sight. I’ma get medieval on your ass.
Butch: I meant what now between me and you?
Marsellus: Oh, that what now. I tell you what now between me and you. There is no me and you. Not no more
Butch: So we cool?
Marsellus: Yeah, we cool. Two things. Don’t tell nobody about this. This shit is between me, you, and Mr. Soon-To-Be-Living-The-Rest-of-His-Short-Ass-Life-In-Agonizing-Pain Rapist here. It ain’t nobody else’s business. Two: you leave town tonight, right now. And when you’re gone, you stay gone, or you be gone. You lost all your L.A. privileges. Deal?
Butch: Deal.
Marsellus: Get your ass outta here.


Fabienne: What happened to my Honda?
Butch: I’m sorry baby, I had to crash that Honda.


Butch: How was your breakfast?
Fabienne: It was good…
Butch: Did you get the pancakes, the blueberry pancakes?
Fabienne: No, no, they didn’t have blueberry pancakes, I had to get buttermilk, are you sure you’re okay?
Butch: Honey, since I left you, this has been without a doubt the single weirdest fucking day of my life! Come on, hop on, I’ll tell you all about it. Come on, get on. Gotta go.


Fabienne: Whose motorcycle is this?
Butch: It’s a chopper, baby.
Fabienne: Whose chopper is this?
Butch: It’s Zed’s.
Fabienne: Who’s Zed?
Butch: Zed’s dead, baby. Zed’s dead.




[man bursts out of the bathroom with his gun starts shooting at Jules and Vincent]
Man: Die you, motherfuckers! Die!
[he empties his entire gun, but amazingly the man hasn’t hit anyone. Jules and Vincent then both empty their guns at the same time onto the man]



[to Marvin]
Vincent: Why the fuck didn’t you tell us somebody was in the bathroom? Slipped your mind? Did you forget that someone was in there with a Goddamn hand cannon?


Jules: This was Divine Intervention! You know what “divine intervention” is?
Vincent: I think so. That means that God came down from Heaven and stopped the bullets.
Jules: That’s right. That’s exactly what it means! God came down from Heaven and stopped these motherfucking bullets.
Vincent: I think it’s time for us to leave Jules.
Jules: Don’t do that! Don’t fucking blow this shit off! What just happened here was a fucking miracle!
Vincent: Chill Jules, this shit happens.
Jules: Wrong! Wrong, this shit doesn’t just happen.
Vincent: Do you wanna continue this theological discussion in the car, or in the jail house with the cops?
Jules: We should be fuckin’ dead, my friend! What happened here was a miracle, and I want you to fucking acknowledge it!
Vincent: Alright, it was a miracle. Can we go now?


[in the car where Jules is behind the wheel, Vincent’s in the passenger seat and Marvin’s in the back]
Vincent: Marvin, what do you make of all this?
Marvin: Man, I don’t even have an opinion.
[Vincent turns to the backseat with his gun casually in his grip]
Vincent: Well you gotta have an opinion. I mean do you think that God came down from Heaven and stopped the…
[Vincent’s gun goes off!]


[after Vincent’s gun has accidently shot Marvin]pulp-fiction-17
Vincent: Whoa, man! Shit!
Jules: What the fuck’s happening, man? Ah, shit, man!
Vincent: Oh, man. I shot Marvin in the face.
Jules: Why the fuck did you do that!
Vincent: Well, I didn’t mean to do it, it was an accident!
Jules: Oh man, I’ve seen some crazy ass shit in my time but this…
Vincent: Chill out, man. I told you it was an accident. You probably…you went over a bump or something.
Jules: Hey, the car didn’t hit no motherfucking bump.
Vincent: Hey, look man, I didn’t…I didn’t mean to shoot the son of a bitch. The gun went off. I don’t know why.
Jules: Well look at this fucking mess, man. We’re on a city street in broad daylight here!
Vincent: I don’t believe it.
Jules: Well believe it now, motherfucker! We gotta get this car off the road! You know cops tend to notice shit like you’re driving a car drenched in fucking blood.
Vincent: Just take it to a friendly place, that’s all.
Jules: This in the Valley, Vincent. Marsellus ain’t got no friendly places in the Valley.
Vincent: Well Jules this ain’t my fucking town, man!
Jules: Shit!


[cleaning their bloody hands in Jimmie Dimmick’s bathroom]
Jules: Fuck, man, what the fuck did you do to his towel man?
Vincent: I was dryin’ my hands.
Jules: well you’re supposed to wash ’em first!
Vincent: You watched me wash ’em.
Jules: I watched you get ’em wet.
Vincent: I was washing ’em. But this shit’s hard to get off. Maybe if he had Lava I could have done a better job.
Jules: I used the same fuckin’ soap you did and when I finished the towel didn’t look like no Goddamn Maxi-Pad!


[Jules, Vincent and Jimmie are drinking coffee in Jimmie’s kitchen]pulp-fiction-22
Jules: Mmm! Goddamn, Jimmie! This is some serious gourmet shit! Me and Vincent would have been happy with some freeze-dried Taster’s Choice right, but he springs this serious gourmet shit on us! What flavor is this?
Jimmie: Knock it off, Julie.
Jules: What?
Jimmie: I don’t need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I’m the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping she buys shit. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it I want to taste it. But you know what’s on my mind right now? It ain’t the coffee in my kitchen, it’s the dead nigger in my garage.
Jules: Oh, Jimmie, don’t even worry about that…
Jimmie: No, no, no, no, don’t think about anything. Now I wanna ask you a question. When you came pulling in here, did you notice a sign out in the front of my house that said “Dead Nigger Storage”?
Jules: Jimmie, you know I ain’t seen no shit…
Jimmie: Did you notice a sign out in the front of my house that said “Dead Nigger Storage”?
Jules: No. I didn’t.
Jimmie: You know why you didn’t see that sign?
Jules: Why?
Jimmie: Cause it ain’t there, cause storing dead niggers ain’t my fucking business, that’s why!


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Total Quotes: 101



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