Emmett: Calling me sir is like putting an elevator in an outhouse. It don't belong.

Frank Tilghman: [repeated line] I thought you'd be bigger.

Jimmy: [to Dalton] I used to fuck guys like you in prison.

Steve: [having sex in a back room of the Double Deuce.] Oh, yeah! You're gonna be my regular Saturday-night thing, baby!

Brad Wesley: Tell me — if I owned a bar, and wanted to clean it up, how much would it take to get you to come work for me?
Dalton: There's no amount of money.

Carrie Ann: [chuckling] Oh, my god...
Dalton: What is the joke?
Carrie Ann: Well, there's no joke. I just think I'm looking at a dead man, though.
Dalton: It seems everywhere I go, I hear that same joke.
Carrie Ann: Yeah, well, something tells me you bring it on yourself.

Dalton: [walking in on Steve having sex with a girl in the supply closet] Yo, Steve! You're history.
Steve: But I'm on my break!
Dalton: Stay on it.
Steve: Ah, shit!

Dalton: People who really want to have a good time won't come to a slaughterhouse. Now we've got entirely too many troublemakers here. Too many, uh, forty-year-old adolescents, felons, power drinkers, and trustees of modern chemistry. That's going to change.
Hank: Man, that sure sounds good. But a lot of the guys that come in here, we can't handle one-on-one. Even two-on-one.
Dalton: Don't worry about it. All you have to do is follow three simple rules. One: Never underestimate your opponent. Expect the unexpected. Two: Take it outside. Never start anything inside the bar unless it's absolutely necessary. And three: Be nice.
. . .
Dalton: You are the bouncers, I am the cooler. All you have to do is watch my back — and each others — and take out the trash.

Dalton: Sorry, we're closed.
Ketchum: Then what are all these people doing here?
Dalton: Drinking and having a good time.
Ketchum: That's why we're here.
Dalton: You're too stupid to have a good time.

Dalton: You got quite a little enterprise going here.
Pat: What?
Dalton: [You're] going through a bottle every 30 minutes, you're skimming the till for six shots a bottle, on drafts, one every ten.
[As Pat slams the register shut, Dalton turns to Tilghman.]
Dalton: I figure he's costing you about a hundred and fifty a night.
Pat: [grinning] So?
Dalton: So, consider it severance pay. Take the train.

Dalton: You play pretty good for a blind boy.
Cody: And I thought you'd be bigger.

Doc: [stitching up a knife wound] Do you ever win a fight?
Dalton: Nobody ever wins a fight.

Doc: Do you always carry your medical record around with you?
Dalton: Saves time.

Doc: Your file says you've got a degree from NYU. What in?
Dalton: Philosophy.
Doc: Any particular discipline?
Dalton: No. Not really. Man's search for faith. That sort of shit.
Doc: Come up with any answers?
Dalton: Not too many.
Doc: How's a guy like you end up a bouncer?
Dalton: Just lucky I guess.

Emmett: It ain't the money ya understand, but if I don't charge ya somethin' the Presbyterians around here are likely to pray for my ruination. How does a hundred dollars a month strike ya?
Dalton: Fine.
Emmett: Can ya afford that much?
Dalton: If it keeps you in the good graces of the church.
Emmett: Ain't it peculiar how money seems to do that very thing?