Jules Winnfield: Mmmm! Goddamn, Jimmie! This is some serious gourmet shit! Usually, me and Vince would be happy with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice, but he springs this serious GOURMET shit on us! What flavor is this?
Jimmie Dimmick: Knock it off, Julie.
Jules Winnfield: [pause] What?
Jimmie Dimmick: I'm not a cob of corn, so you can stop buttering me up. I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, all right? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes out shopping she buys SHIT. Me, I buy the expensive gourmet stuff because when I drink it I like to taste it. But you know what's on my mind right now? It AIN'T the coffee in my kitchen, it's the dead nigger in my garage.
Jules Winnfield: Oh, Jimmie, don't even worry about that...
Jimmie Dimmick: No, let me ask you a question. When you came pulling in here, did you see a sign out in front of my house that said "Dead Nigger Storage?"
Jules Winnfield: Jimmie, you know I ain't seen no...
Jimmie Dimmick: Did you see a sign out in front of my house that said "Dead Nigger Storage?"
Jules Winnfield: [pause] No. I didn't.
Jimmie Dimmick: You know WHY you didn't see that sign?
Jules Winnfield: Why?
Jimmie Dimmick: 'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing dead niggers ain't my fucking business, that's why!

 

Jules: Whoa... whoa... whoa... stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing.
Vincent: Not the same thing, the same ballpark.
Jules: It ain't no fuckin' ballpark either. Now look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin' his wife's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holyiest of holies, ain't the same ballpark, it ain't the same league, it ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages - I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: Given a lot of 'em?
Jules: Shit yeah. I got my technique down and everything, I don't be tickling or nothin'.
Vincent: Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You give them a lot?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You know, I'm getting kinda tired, I could use a foot massage.
Jules: Man, you best back off, I'm gittin' pissed.

 

Vincent: And you know what they call a... a... a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?
Vincent: No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules: Then what do they call it?
Vincent: They call it a "Royale" with cheese.
Jules: A "Royale" with cheese. What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent: Well, a Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "le Big-Mac".
Jules: "Le Big-Mac". Ha ha ha ha. What do they call a Whopper?
Vincent: I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King.

Butch: You okay?
Marsellus: Naw man. I'm pretty fuckin' far from okay.
Butch: What now?
Marsellus: What now? Let me tell you what now. I'ma call a coupla hard, pipe-hittin' niggers, who'll go to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. You hear me talkin', hillbilly boy? I ain't through with you by a damn sight. I'ma get medieval on your ass.
Butch: I meant what now between me and you?
Marsellus: Oh, that "what now." I tell you what now between me and you. There is no me and you. Not no more.

 

Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: What country you from?
Brett: What?
Jules: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in What?
Brett: What?
Jules: ENGLISH, MOTHERFUCKER! DO-YOU-SPEAK-IT?
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Then you know what I'm saying!
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Describe what Marcellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What, I-?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say "what" again. SAY "WHAT" AGAIN. I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker. Say "what" one more goddamn time.
Brett: He's b-b-black...
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He's bald...
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
[Jules shoots Brett in shoulder]
Jules: DOES HE LOOK LIKE A BITCH?
Brett: No!
Jules: Then why you try to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't.
Jules: Yes you did. YES YOU DID, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.

 

Lance: You're going to give her an injection of adrenaline directly to her heart. But she's got, uh, breastplates...
[taps Mia's chest]
Lance: You've got to pierce through that. So what you have to do is, you have to bring the needle down in a stabbing motion.
[demonstrates]
Vincent: I-I gotta stab her three times?
Lance: No, you don't gotta fucking stab her three times! You gotta stab her once, but it's gotta be hard enough to break through her breastplate into her heart, and then once you do that, you press down on the plunger.
Vincent: What happens after that?
Lance: I'm kinda curious about that myself.

 

Fabienne: Whose motorcycle is this?
Butch: It's a chopper, baby.
Fabienne: Whose chopper is this?
Butch: It's Zed's.
Fabienne: Who's Zed?
Butch: Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.

 

Vincent: Whoa!
Jules: What the fuck's happening, man? Ah, shit man!
Vincent: Oh man, I shot Marvin in the face.
Jules: Why the fuck did you do that!
Vincent: Well, I didn't mean to do it, it was an accident!
Jules: Oh man I've seen some crazy ass shit in my time...
Vincent: Chill out, man. I told you it was an accident. You probably went over a bump or something.
Jules: Hey, the car didn't hit no motherfucking bump.
Vincent: Hey, look man, I didn't mean to shoot the son of a bitch. The gun went off. I don't know why.
Jules: Well look at this fucking mess, man. We're on a city street in broad daylight here!
Vincent: I don't believe it.
Jules: Well believe it now, motherfucker! We gotta get this car off the road! You know cops tend to notice shit like you're driving a car drenched in fucking blood.
Vincent: Just take it to a friendly place, that's all.
Jules: This in the Valley, Vincent. Marcellus ain't got no friendly places in the Valley.
Vincent: Well Jules this ain't my fucking town, man!
Jules: Shit!
[Jules dials a number on his cell phone]
Vincent: What you doin'?
Jules: I'm calling my partner in Toluca Lake.
Vincent: Where's Toluca Lake?
Jules: It's just over the hill here over by Burbank Studios. If Jimmie's ass ain't home, I don't know what the fuck we're going to do, man. 'Cause I ain't got no other partners in 8-1-8. Hey Jimmie, yo, how you doin', man? It's Jules. Listen up man. Me and my homeboy are in serious fucking shit. We're in a car and we gotta get off the road, pronto. I need to use your garage for a couple of hours.