Others quotes

"Sir, it's out of my hands. The gods want you to go back home, and they want you to delete someone while you're there." - Marcella

"Go see some old friends. Drink some punch, visit with what's-her-name. Don't kill anybody for a few days -- see what it feels like." - Dr. Oatman

"I'll see you at the 'I've-Peaked-and-I'm-Kidding-Myself' party." - Paul Spericki

"You want to kill the good guy but not be the bad guy. It doesn't work like that. You've got to wait until the bad guy kills the good guy. Then when you kill the bad guy, you're the good guy." - Agent Steve Lardner

"Well, looking for some validation for my life, but apparently came up SHORT!" - Paul Spericki

"Now I'm left with the aftermath of that, thinking I've got to be creative in a really interesting way here, or Martin's going to blow my brains out!" - Dr. Oatman

"No, I'm NOT all right! I'm hurt, I'm pissed... and I gotta find a new job!" - Ultimart clerk

[Part of a weekly therapy session.]
Martin Blank: So what do we do now? Do we talk about dreams, or what's next? What's the score here?
Dr. Oatman: You want to talk about dreams, we can talk about dreams. It's your nickel.
Martin: I had another one about Debi.
Dr. Oatman: That girl you're obsessed with?
Martin: Don't you think "obsessed" is a strong word?
Dr. Oatman: Ah, recurring dreams of pain and loss for ten years featuring the same person? Yeah, maybe it's... a bit obsessive.
Martin: I had one where I was that television mechanical rabbit. You know, with the, the... [mimes clashing cymbals]
Dr. Oatman: The battery bunny.
Martin: Yeah, I was the bunny.
Dr. Oatman: That sounds like a very, very depressed dream.
Martin: Really?
Dr. Oatman: Yes.
Martin: Why?
Dr. Oatman: Martin, it's a terrible dream! It's a depressing dream to dream about that rabbit. It's got no brain, it's got no blood, it's got no anima! It just keeps banging on those meaningless cymbals, and going and going!

Debi Newberry: So, is there a Mrs. Mysterio?
Martin Blank: No, but I have a cat.
Debi: It's not the same thing.
Martin: Well, you don't know my cat. It's very demanding.
Debi: It? You don't know if it's a boy or a girl?
Martin: I respect its privacy.

Mr. Newberry: So, what have you been doing with your life?
Martin: Um... professional killer.
Mr. Newberry: Ah, good for you! It's a growth industry.

Martin: Whole grain pancakes and an egg-white omelette, please.
Waitress: What would you like in your omelette?
Martin: Nothing in the omelette. Nothing at all.
Waitress: Well, that's not technically an omelette.
Martin: Well, I don't want to get into a semantic argument about it, I just want the protein, all right?

[Debi's dad learns there's a contract on his life.]
Mr. Newberry: Design division wants me dead over a leaky sun-roof? You want to kill me for that?
Martin: It's not ME! Why does everybody think it's personal?

Debi: You're a psychopath!
Martin: No, no, no -- a psychopath kills for no reason. I kill for money. It's a job. Uh... that didn't sound right.

[Martin's secretary has discovered that several enemies are in town]
Marcella: [on phone] Sir, I'm becoming concerned for your safety.
Martin: I have to go.
Marcella: Yeah, well, we all have to go sometime, sir, but we can choose when.
Martin: Nobody chooses when. [hangs up.]

Martin Blank: Debi's house.
Paul Spericki: Kinda crept up on you, didn't it?
Martin: No, you drove us here.
Paul: [pause] Yep.

Martin: Why are you so interested in me going to my high school reunion?
Marcella: I just find it amusing that you came from somewhere.
Martin: Did you go to yours?
Marcella: Yes, I did. It was just as if everybody had swelled.

Marty: This your Beamer?
Paul: Yeah.
Marty: In Detroit? That's sacrilege!

Agent McCullers: You got any ideas how you wanna wax this guy?
Agent Lardner: Can't you just say "kill"? You always gotta romanticize it.

Debi: You know what you need?
Marty: What?
Debi: Shakabuku.
Marty: You wanna tell me what that means?
Debi: It's a swift, spiritual kick to the head that alters your reality forever.
Marty: Oh, that'd be good. I think.

Marty: I'm a professional killer.
Paul: Do you have to do post-graduate work for that?

Mr. Newberry: Did I have you figured wrong?
Marty: I don't know -- I mean, I hope so.
Mr. Newberry: I visualised you in a haze as one of those slackster, flannel-wearing, coffee-house misanthropes I've been seeing in Newsweek.
Marty: No-no-no, I went the other road. Six figures, doing business with lead-pipe cruelty, mercenery sensibility. You know... sport sex, no real relationships. How about you -- how have the years been treating you?
Mr. Newberry: Well, you know me Martin -- still the same old sell-out, exploiting the oppressed...
Marty: Sure.
Mr. Newberry: Ah what a piece of work is man, how noble... oh **** it, let's have a drink and forget the whole damn thing.

Marcella: Don't hang up! Wait! Did you read yesterday's offer?
Marty: Hold on a minute.
Marcella: It's in French. It's a Greenpeace boat. It'd be so easy.
Marty: No way! I have scruples.

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