'It' didn't slip away, Martin, you did... when you went off to fuck Nicki in the middle of my birthday party.

Bo Catlett: There's nothin' to know. You have an idea, you write down what you wanna say. Then you get somebody to add in the commas and shit where they belong, if you aren't positive yourself. Maybe fix up the spelling where you have some tricky words... although I've seen scripts where I know words weren't spelled right and there was hardly any commas in it at all. So I don't think it's too important. Anyway, you come to the last page you write in 'Fade out' and that's the end, you're done.

Martin: I'm glad you rejected me ten years ago when I auditioned for Eddie Solomon, the pedophile clown in Birthday Boy. Had I gotten the part. I might've gotten typecast.

Ray "Bones" Barboni: Chili Palmer. Chilly outside. Chili inside. It's a regular fuckin' chili-fest. Hey, waiter, give Mr Chili Pepper a big fuckin' bowl of chili!

Ray "Bones" Barboni: They say the fucking smog is the fucking reason you have such beautiful fucking sunsets.

Ray "Bones" Barboni: Yeah well, I hope you drive better than you fucking spell, jack-off. My name is Barboni, not Barbone, okay!

Bear: You see the paper?
Bo catlett: I seen it, but I don't believe it. Says Harry shot Ronnie five times. Four to the chest and one through his foot.
Bear: His foot. Jeez, poor Ronnie...

Cabbie: You ever wanta go to the beach, here's the freeway you take we're coming to.
Ray "Bones": I live in Miami and you want to show me a fuckin' beach? The sun ever come out here, or you have this smog all the time?
Cabbie: They say the smog's the reason we have such beautiful sunsets.

Chili: Harry Zimm, how you doing? I'm Chili Palmer.
Harry: Jesus, if I have a heart attack, I hope you know what to do.
Chili: Where you been, Harry?
Harry: Have we met? I don't recall.
Chili: We just did. I told you my name's Chili Palmer.

Chili: Harry, look at me.
Harry: I'm looking at you.
Chili: I want you to keep looking right here, okay?
Harry: That's what I'm doing.

Chili: Hey... Karen. How ya' doin'?
Karen: What're you doing here?
Chili: I wanted to come by, apologise for coming into your house like I did last night.
Karen: Lemme get this straight, you broke in again to apologize for breaking in before?
Chili: No, no... you let the patio door open. You gotta stop doin' that, all the nice things you got around here.

Chili: I was never much into it. All that bullshit having to do with respect. It's bad enough having to treat those guys like they're your heroes, having to smile when they make some stupid remark they think's real funny.
Karen: And you think the movie business is any different?

Chili: Martin Weir. He played the mob guy that turned snitch in "The Cyclone".
Harry: One of his best parts.
Chili: No, his best part was the cripple gay guy that climbed Mt. Whitney.
Harry: "Ride the Clouds". Good picture.

Chili: Martin, look at me.
Martin: I'm looking at you.
Chili: No, I want you to look at me the way I'm looking at you. Put it in your eyes, 'You're mine, asshole,' without saying it.
Martin: Like this?
Chili: What you're telling me, you're tired? You wanna go to bed?
Martin: Wait. How about this?
Chili: Now you're squinting like you need glasses. Look at me. I'm thinking, You're mine. I fuckin' own you. What I'm not doing is feeling anything about it one way or the other. You understand? You're not a person to me, you're a name in my collection book, a guy owes me money, that's all.
Martin: How about this?
Chili: That's not bad.
Martin: That's what I think of you, asshole. Nothing.
Chili: I believe it.

Chili: So what're you tellin' me, you're never gonna go to sleep again?
Tommy: No, I said I'm never goin' to bed. There's a difference. See, the article says most people die in their beds. I figure long as I stay outta bed, I'm safe.