Brad Dupree: [reading Lester's job description] "My job consists of basically masking my contempt for the assholes in charge, and, at least once a day, retiring to the men's room so I can jerk off while I fantasize about a life that doesn't so closely resemble Hell." Well, you have absolutely no interest in saving yourself.
Lester: Brad, for 14 years I've been a whore for the advertising industry. The only way I could save myself now is if I start firebombing.
...
Lester: Well what do you say I throw in a little sexual harassment charge to boot.
Brad Dupree: Against who?
Lester: Against YOU. Can you prove that you didn't offer to save my job if I let you blow me?
Brad Dupree: Man, you are one twisted fuck.
Lester: Nope, I'm just an ordinary guy with nothing to lose.

Angela: I'm serious. He just pulled down his pants and yanked it out. You know, like, "Say hello to Mr. Happy."
Playground Girl #1: Gross.
Angela: It wasn't gross. It was kinda cool.
Playground Girl #1: So did you do it with him?
Angela: Of course I did. He's like a really well known photographer. He shoots for "Elle" on like a regular basis. It would have been so majorly stupid of me to turn him down.
Playground Girl #2: You are a total prostitute.
Angela: Hey! That's how things really are. You just don't know 'cause you're this pampered little suburban chick.
Playground Girl #2: So are you. You've only been in 'Seventeen' once and you looked fat! So stop acting like you're goddamn Christy Turlington!
[The two girls walk away]
Angela: Cunt! I am so sick of people taking their insecurities out on me.

[To Carolyn] You don't get to tell me what to do ever again.

Man, oh man. Man, oh man, oh man, oh man, oh man. * [Last Words]

Mr. Smiley's Manager: I don't think you'd fit in here.
Lester: I have fast food experience.
Mr. Smiley's Manager: Yeah, like twenty years ago!
Lester: Well, I'm sure there have been amazing technological advances in the industry, but surely you must have some sort of training program. It seems unfair to presume I won't be able to learn.

My name is Lester Burnham. This is my neighborhood; this is my street; this is my life. I am 42 years old; in less than a year I will be dead. Of course I don't know that yet, and in a way, I am dead already.

Look at me, jerking off in the shower — this will be the high point of my day. It's all downhill from here.

That's my wife, Carolyn. See the way the handle on her pruning shears matches her gardening clogs? That's not an accident.

Janie's a pretty typical teenager. Angry, insecure, confused. I wish I could tell her that's all going to pass, but I don't want to lie to her.

Both my wife and daughter think I'm this gigantic loser and they're right, I have lost something. I'm not exactly sure what it is but I know I didn't always feel this... sedated. But you know what? It's never too late to get it back.

You're one to talk, you bloodless, money-grubbing freak.

1970 Pontiac Firebird. The car I've always wanted and now I have it. I rule!

This isn't life, it's just stuff. And it's become more important to you than living. Well, honey, that's just nuts.

I'm just an ordinary guy with nothing to lose.

I want to look good naked!