— I saw the stiff. Word is that was your handiwork.
— Nah. I do needlepoint.
— Officer McClane.
— That is Detective McClane, asshole.
— I am tired and I am going for bed. Alone.
— You are damn right alone.
Nine million terrorists in the world... and I gotta kill one with feet smaller than my sister.
— Can I see some identification, please? Yeah, sure. Detective!
— Yeah that looks real.
— Where did you get that? Toys R Us?
— Hey, Roy, how you feeling?
— Pretty fucking unappreciated, Al.
— Do you know what you get for being a hero? Nothing! You get shot at. Pat on the back, bla bla bla. That a boy! You get divorced... Your wife can't remember your last name, kids don't want to talk to you... You get to eat a lot of meals by yourself. Trust me kid, nobody wants to be that guy.
— Then why you doing this?
— Because there is nobody else to do it right now. Believe me if there was somebody else to do it i would let them do it. There's not, so we're doing it.
— That's what makes you that guy.
— I am not a doctor, but you look like you are hurt.
— Yes, sexy, right?
— Why'd you bring a cop into my Command Centre?
— Command Centre?! It is a basement.
— It is a Command Centre!
— How about twenty dollars?
— How about I let you live?
— Man knows how to bargain...
— Guess I was wrong about you. You're not such an asshole after all.
— No, you were right. I'm just your kind of asshole.