Pulp Fiction – Movie Quotes

If you find my answers frightening, Vincent, you should cease askin' scary questions.

Now the night of the fight, you may fell a slight sting, that's pride fuckin' wit ya.

It's unfortunate what we find pleasing to the touch and pleasing to the eye is seldome the same.

— Look, I'm sorry, uh, I didn't get your name. I got yours. Vincent. Right? But I never got yours.
— My name's Pitt, and your ass ain't talkin' your way outta this shit.

— I'm talkin'. Now let me ask you a question, Jules. When you drove in here, did you notice a sign out front that said, "Dead nigger storage"?
— Naw man, I didn't.
— You know why you didn't see that sign?
— Why?
— 'Cause storin' dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business!

— Can you have a towel please, Miss Beautiful Tulip.
— Oh I like that, I like being called a tulip. Tulip is much better than Mongoloid.

— The truth is, nobody knows why Marsellus tossed Tony Rocky Horror out of that window except Marsellus and Tony Rocky Horror. But when you scamps get together, you're worse than a sewing circle

— While I'm doing this, take her shirt off and find her heart.
— Does it have to be exact?
— Yeah, it has to be exact! I'm giving her an injection in the heart, so I gotta exactly hit her in the heart.

— Want some bacon?
— No, man, I don't eat pork.
— Are you Jewish?
— I ain't Jewish; I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
— Why not?
— Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
— Yeah, but bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good.
— Sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know… 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfuckers. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eatin' nothin' ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.

Jules, you give that fuckin' nimrod 1, 500 dollars, and I'll shoot him on general principle.

But still, you play with matches, you get burned.

You hear that, young lady? Respect. You could lean a lot from those two fine specimens. Respect for one's elders shows character.

— And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
— They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?
— No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
— Then what do they call it?
— They call it a Royale with cheese.
— A Royale with cheese. What do they call a Big Mac?
— Well, a Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it le Big-Mac.

Nobody kills anybody in my place of business… except me or Zed.

— We should have shotguns for this kind of deal.
— How many up there?
— Three or four.
— That's countin' our guy?
— Not sure.
— So that means there could be up to five guys up there?
— It's possible.
— We should have fuckin' shotguns.

He knew 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 slope's gonna put their greasy, yellow hands on his boy's birthright, so he hid it in one place he knew he could hide something — his ass. Five long years he wore this watch up his ass. Then he died of dysentery — He give 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 and… now… Little man, I give the watch to you.