Pulp Fiction

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Pulp Fiction is a 1994 neo-noir film about the lives of two mob hit men, a boxer, a gangster's wife, and a pair of diner bandits that intertwine in four tales of violence and redemption.

Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino.
You won't know the facts until you've seen the fiction. Taglines
"The truth is… you're the weak, and I am the tyranny of evil men. But I'm trying, Ringo. I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd."
"Aw, man, I shot Marvin in the face!"
"WHAT?! Why the fuck'd you do that?!"

Jules Winnfield[edit]

  • I been saying that shit for years. And if you heard it, that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this morning made me think twice. See, now I'm thinking, maybe it means you're the evil man, and I'm the righteous man, and Mr. 9 Millimeter here? He's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or it could mean you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. Now I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is…you're the weak, and I am the tyranny of evil men. But I'm trying, Ringo. I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd.

Marsellus Wallace[edit]

  • [to Butch] The night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting. That's pride fucking with you. Fuck pride. Pride only hurts. It never helps. You fight through that shit.
  • [to Butch] This business is filled to the brim with unrealistic motherfuckers. Motherfuckers who thought their ass would age like wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar...it does. If you mean it gets better with age... it don't.

Captain Koons[edit]

  • [To young Butch] Hello, little man. Boy, I sure heard a bunch about you. See, I was a good friend of your dad's. We were in that Hanoi pit of hell together over five years. Hopefully, you'll never have to experience this yourself, but when two men are in a situation like me and your dad were for as long as we were, you take on certain responsibilities of the other. If it'd been me who'd - not made it, Major Coolidge would be talking right now to my son Jim. The way it turned out, I'm talking to you. Butch. I got somethin' for ya. [Sits down, holds up a gold wristwatch with no band] This watch I got here was first purchased by your great-grandfather during the First World War. It was bought in a little general store in Knoxville, Tennessee. Made by the first company to ever make wristwatches. Up 'til then, people just carried pocket watches. It was bought by Private Doughboy Erine Coolidge on the day he set sail for Paris. This was your great-grandfather's war watch and he wore it every day he was in that war, and when he'd done his duty, he went home to your great-grandmother, took the watch off, put it in an old coffee can, and in that can it stayed until your granddad, Dane Coolidge, was called upon by his country to go overseas and fight the Germans once again. This time they called it World War II.
Your great-grandfather gave this watch to your granddad for good luck. Unfortunately, Dane's luck wasn't as good as his old man's. Dane was a Marine and he was killed, along with all the other Marines at the battle of Wake Island. Your granddad was facing death. He knew it. None of those boys had any illusions about ever leavin' that island alive, so three days before the Japanese took the island, your granddad asked a gunner on an Air Force transport, name of Winocki - a man he'd never met before in his life - to deliver to his infant son, who he'd never seen in the flesh, his gold watch. Three days later, your granddad was dead, but Winocki kept his word. After the war was over, he paid a visit to your grandmother, delivering to your infant father his dad's gold watch. This watch. [He holds the watch up] This watch was on your daddy's wrist when he was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured, put in a Vietnamese prison camp. He knew that if the gooks ever saw the watch, it'd be confiscated and taken away. The way your dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He'd be damned if any slope's gonna put their greasy, yellow hands on his boy's birthright, so he hid it in one place he knew he could hide something - his ass. Five long years he wore this watch up his ass. Then, he died of dysentery. He gave me the watch. I hid this uncomfortable hunk of metal up my ass two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. Now, little man, I give the watch to you. [He passes it to young Butch]


Yolanda: This place? A coffee shop?
Ringo: What's wrong with that? Nobody ever robs restaurants. Why not? Bars, liquor stores, gas stations; you get your head blown off sticking up one of them. Restaurants, on the other hand, you catch with their pants down. They're not expecting to get robbed. Not as expectant, anyway.
Yolanda: I bet you could cut down on the hero factor in a place like this.
Ringo: Correct. Just like banks, these places are insured. Manager? He don't give a fuck. He's just trying to get you out the door before you start plugging the diners. Waitresses? Fuck it. forget it. No way are they taking a bullet for the register. Busboy, some wetback getting paid a dollar fifty an hour, really give a fuck you're stealing from the owner? Customers are sitting there with food in their mouths; they don't know what's going on. One minute, they're having a Denver omelette; the next minute, someone's sticking a gun in their face.

Jules Winnfield: Okay, so, tell me about the hash bars.
Vincent Vega: So what you want to know?
Jules: Well, hash is legal there, right?
Vincent: Yeah, it's legal, but it ain't a hundred percent legal. I mean, you can't walk into a restaurant, roll a joint, and start puffin' away. They want you to smoke in your home or certain designated places.
Jules: Those are hash bars?
Vincent: Breaks down like this, okay: it's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it, and if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's illegal to carry it, but that doesn't really matter 'cause, get a load of this, all right; if you get stopped by the cops in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have.
Jules: [laughing] Oh, man. I'm going, that's all there is to it. I'm fucking going.
Vincent: Yeah, baby, you'd dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?
Jules: What?
Vincent: It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over there that we got here, but it's just...it's just, there it's a little different.
Jules: Example?
Vincent: All right. Well, you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam and buy a beer. And I don't mean just like in no paper cup; I'm talking about a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer at McDonald's. And you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?
Vincent: Nah, man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules: What do they call it?
Vincent: They call it a "Royale with Cheese."
Jules: "Royale with Cheese."
Vincent: That's right.
Jules: What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "Le Big Mac."
Jules: [in mock French accent] "Le Big Mac." [laughs] What do they call a Whopper?
Vincent: I don't know, I didn't go in a Burger King, You know what they put on French fries in Holland instead of ketchup?.
Jules: What?
Vincent: Mayonnaise.
Jules: [makes a grossed out face] Goddamn.
Vincent: [chuckles] I seen them do it, man, they fucking drown them in that shit.
Jules: [grossed out] Yuck.

Jules: We should have shotguns for this kind of deal.
Vincent: How many of them are there?
Jules: 3 or 4.
Vincent: Is that counting our guy?
Jules: Not sure.
Vincent: So, it could be as many as 5 guys in there?
Jules: It's possible.
Vincent: We should have fucking shotguns.

Vincent: [about a foot massage] It's layin' your hands in a familiar way on Marsellus' new wife. I mean, is it as bad as eatin' her pussy out? No, but it's the same fucking ballpark.
Jules: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. Eating a bitch out and giving a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fucking thing.
Vincent: It's not. It's the same ballpark.
Jules: Ain't no fucking ballpark neither. Now, look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but, you know, touching his wife's feet and sticking your tongue in the holiest of holies ain't the same fucking ballpark. It ain't the same league. It ain't even the same fucking sport. Look, foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be telling me about foot massages, I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: Given a lot of them?
Jules: Shit, yeah. I got my technique down and everything, I don't be tickling or nothing.
Vincent: Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Jules: [pause] 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 myself.
Jules: Yo, yo, yo, man, you best back off. I'm getting pissed here. This is the door.
Vincent: There it is.
Jules: What time you got?
Vincent: [looks at his watch] 7:22 in the a.m.
Jules: No, it's not time yet. Let's hang back. [they go into an empty hallway] Look, just 'cause I wouldn't give no man a foot massage don't make it right for Marsellus to throw Antoine into a glass motherfucking house, fucking up the way the nigga talks. That shit ain't right. Motherfucker do that shit to me, he better paralyze my ass because I'd kill the motherfucker. Know what I'm saying?
Vincent: I ain't saying it's right. But you're saying a foot massage don't mean nothing, and I'm saying it does. Now, look, I've given a million ladies a million foot massages, and they all meant something. We act like they don't, but they do, and that's what's so fucking cool about them. There's a sensuous thing going on where you don't talk about it, but you know it, she knows it, fucking Marsellus knew it, and Antoine should have fucking better known better. I mean, that's his fucking wife, man. He ain't gonna have no sense of humor about that shit. You know what I'm saying?
Jules: That's an interesting point. [pause] C'mon, let's get into character.

Jules: Looks like me and Vincent caught you boys at breakfast. Sorry about that. Whatcha having?
Brett: Uh, hamburgers.
Jules: Hamburgers! The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast! What kind of hamburgers?
Brett: Uh, Ch-cheeseburgers.
Jules: No, where'd you get them? McDonald's, Wendy's, Jack in the Box, Where?
Brett: Um, Big Kahuna Burgers.
Jules: Big Kahuna Burgers! That's that Hawaiian burger joint. I hear they've got some tasty burgers. I ain't never had one myself, how are they?
Brett: ...They're good.
Jules: You mind if I try one of yours? This is yours here, right?
Brett: Yeah.
[Jules takes a bite of the Hamburger]
Jules: Mmm, this is a tasty burger! Vincent, you ever had a Big Kahuna Burger? (Vincent shakes his head) Want a bite, they're real tasty.
Vincent: Ain't hungry.
Jules: Well, if you like burgers, give them a try sometime. Me, I can't usually get 'em because my girlfriend's a vegetarian, which, pretty much makes me a vegetarian. I do love the taste of a good burger. (turns to Brett) You know what they call a Quarter Pounder with cheese in France?
Brett: Um, no.
Jules: Tell 'em, Vincent.
Vincent: Royale with cheese.
Jules: "Royale with cheese." Know why they call it that?
Brett: Uh, because of the metric system?
Jules: (smiles at Brett) Check out the big brain on Brett! You're a smart motherfucker. That's right, the metric system.

Brett: [to Jules] Look, I'm sorry, I-I didn't get your name. I got yours, uh, Vincent, right? But-But I-I never got your...
Jules: My name is Pitt, and your ass ain't talking your way outta this shit.
Brett: [rising] No, no, no. I just want you to know how – [Jules motions him to sit down] I just want you to know how sorry we are that-that things got so fucked up with us and-and Mr. Wallace. I-I-It...we-we got into this thing with the best intentions. Really. I never...
[Jules shoots Roger, Brett recoils in horror]
Jules: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration? I didn't mean to do that. Please, continue. You were sayin' something about "best intentions"? [silence] What's the matter? Oh, y-you were finished? Oh, well, allow me to retort. What does Marsellus Wallace look like?
Brett: ..What?
Jules: [angrily throws the small table in the room] What country are you from!?
Brett: Wha-what?
Jules: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in "What"!?
Brett: What?
Brett: Yes!!
Brett: Yes..!
Brett: Wha-what I—?
Brett: H-H-He's black...
Jules: GO ON!
Brett: ...He's bald...!
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?!
Brett: What? [Jules shoots Brett in the shoulder] AGHH!! Anh..!!
Jules: [shouting at the top of his lungs] DOES! HE! LOOK!... LIKE! A BITCH?!?!
Brett: NO!
Jules: Then why'd 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.
Brett: No... no....
Jules But Marsellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody except Mrs. Wallace. You read the Bible, Brett?
Brett: [gasping for breath] Yes...!
Jules: Well, there's this passage I've got memorized, it sorta fits the occasion. Ezekiel 25:17: "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men. Blessed is He who in the name of charity and good will shepherds the weak through the valley of darkness, for He is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. [begins pacing about the room] And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who attempt to poison and destroy My brothers. And you will know My name is the Lord... [pulls out his gun and aims at Brett] ...when I lay My vengeance upon thee."
[Brett shrieks in horror as Jules and Vincent shoot him repeatedly]
Marvin: Oh fuck. I'm fucked. Oh fuck, oh fuck.
Vincent: Is he a friend of yours?
Jules: Hmm? Oh, Vincent, Marvin. Marvin, Vincent.
Vincent: Better tell him to shut the fuck up, he's getting on my nerves.
Jules: Marvin. Marvin. MARVIN! I'd knock that shit off if I was you.

Vincent: You ever seen that show "Cops"? I was watching it one time, and there was this cop on, and he was talking about this gun fight he had in the hallway with this guy, right, and he just unloaded on this guy, and nothing happened, he didn't hit nothing. Okay, it was just him and this guy. I mean, you know, it's freaky, but it happens.
Jules: Look, you want to play blind man, go walk with the shepherd, but me - my eyes are wide fucking open.
Vincent: The fuck does that mean?
Jules: I mean, that's it for me. From here on in, you consider my ass retired.
Vincent: Jesus Christ...
Jules: Don't blaspheme.
Vincent: God damn it, Jules...
Jules: I said don't do that!
Vincent: Hey, you know why the fuck you fucking freaking out on us?
Jules: Look, I'm telling Marsellus today, I'm through.
Vincent: But why don't you tell him at the same time, why?
Jules: Don't worry, I will.
Vincent: Yeah, and I bet you ten thousand dollars he laughs his ass off.
Jules: I don't give a damn if he does.
Vincent: Marvin, what do you make of all this?
Marvin: Man, I don't even have an opinion.
Vincent: [Turns around, sloppily pointing his gun at Marvin] Well, you gotta have an opinion! I mean, do you think that God came down from Heaven and stopped the- [Vincent's gun goes off, killing Marvin instantly and covering the car's interior in his blood and brains]
Jules: Oh! The fuck's happening?! Ah!
Vincent: Oh shit!
Jules: Man!
Vincent: Aw, man, I shot Marvin in the face!
Jules: WHAT?! Why the fuck'd you do that?!
Vincent: Well, I didn't mean to do it, it was an accident.
Jules: Oh man, I seen some crazy ass shit in my time, but this...
Vincent: Chill out man, I told you it was an accident, you probably went over a bump or something.
Jules: Hey, the car ain'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, man!
Jules: Well, believe it now, motherfucker, we got to 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 is The Valley, Vincent. Marsellus ain't got no friendly places in The Valley.
Vincent: Well, Jules, this ain't my fuckin’ town, man!
Jules: Shit! [Pulls out a cell phone and extends the antenna]
Vincent: What you doing?
Jules: Calling my partner in Toluca Lake.
Vincent: Where's Toluca Lake?
Jules: Just over the hill here, over by Burbank Studios. If Jimmie's ass ain't home I don't know what the fuck we going to do man, cause I don't got no other partners in 818. [over the telephone] Jimmie, yo', how you doing, man, it's Jules. Just listen up, man, me and my homeboy in some serious fucking shit, we're in a car we need to get off the road pronto. I need to use your garage for a couple hours...

Mia Wallace: Don't you hate that?
Vincent: Hate what?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don't know. That's a good question.
Mia: That's when you know you've found somebody really special: you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably share silence.

Mia Wallace: So, did you think of something to say?
Vincent Vega: As a matter of fact, I did. However, you seem like a really nice person, and I don't want to offend you.
Mia Wallace: Ooh! This doesn't sound like the usual mindless, boring, getting-to-know-you chit-chat. This sounds like you have something to say.

[Butch has saved Marsellus, who was being raped by Zed]
Butch: You okay?
Marsellus: ...Nah, man. I'm pretty fucking far from okay.
[Zed, who had just been shot by Marsellus, screams and moans in agony]
Butch: What now?
Marsellus: What now? Let me tell you what now. Imma call a couple of hard, pipe-hittin' niggas to go to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blowtorch. [to Zed] You hear me talking, hillbilly boy?! I ain't through with you by a damn sight! Imma get medieval on yo' 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.
Butch: So we cool?
Marsellus: Yeah, we cool. Two things: don't tell nobody about this. This shit is between me, you, and Mr. soon-to-be-living-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing-pain rapist here. It ain't nobody else's business. Two: you leave town tonight, right now, and when you gone, you stay gone, or you be gone. You lost all your LA privileges. Deal?
Butch: Deal.
Marsellus: Get your ass out of here.

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.

Jules: Mmm. Goddamn, Jimmie. This is some serious gourmet shit. Me and Vincent would've been satisfied with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice, right? Heh. And he springs this serious gourmet shit on us. What flavor is this?
Jimmie: Knock it off, Julie.
Jules: What?
Jimmie: I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who buys it. I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping, she buys shit. I buy the gourmet expensive stuff 'cause when I drink it, I want 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: Oh, Jimmie, don't even worry about that.
Jimmie: No, no, no, no, I don't want to think about anything. I want to ask you a question. When you came pullin' in here, did you notice a sign on the front of of my house that said "Dead Nigger Storage"?
Jules: Jimmie, you know I ain't seen no shit...
Jimmie: [shouting] Did you notice a sign on the front of my house that said "Dead Nigger Storage"?
Jules: No, I didn't.
Jimmie: [shouting] You know why you didn't see that sign?
Jules: Why?
Jimmie: [still shouting] 'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing dead niggers ain't my fucking business, that's why!
Jules: But Jimmie, we're not gonna store the motherfucker.
Jimmie: No, no, no, no, no, don't you fucking realize, man, that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I'm gonna get divorced? All right? No marriage counseling, no trial separation, I'm gonna get fucking divorced, okay? And I don't want to get fucking divorced. Now man, you know, fuck, I wanna help you, but I don't want to lose my wife doing it, all right?
Jules: Jimmie, Jimmie, she ain't gonna leave you.
Jimmie: Don't fucking "Jimmie" me, Jules, okay?! Don't fucking "Jimmie" me. There's nothing that you're gonna say that's gonna make me forget that I love my wife, is there?! Now look, you know, she comes home from work in about an hour and a half. Graveyard shift at the hospital. You gotta make some phone calls? You gotta call some people? Well, then do it. And then get the fuck out of my house before she gets here.
Jules: Hey, that's Kool & the Gang. You know, we don't wanna fuck your shit up. All we wanna do is call my people and get them to bring us in, that's all.
Jimmie: You don't wanna fuck my shit up? You're fucking up my shit up right now! You're gonna fuck my shit up big time if Bonnie comes home. So just do me that favor, all right? The phone is in my bedroom, I suggest you get going.

Marsellus: [calmly] Yeah, I grasp that, Jules. All I'm doing is contemplating the ifs.
Jules: [nervous] I don't wanna hear 'bout no motherfucking ifs. All I wanna hear from your ass is, "You ain't got no problem, Jules, I'm on the motherfucker! Go back in there, chill them niggas out, and wait for the cavalry, which should be coming directly"!
Marsellus: You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Go back in there and chill them niggas out and wait for The Wolf, who should be coming directly.
Jules: [Jules pauses and becomes calm] You sending The Wolf?
Marsellus: Oh, you feel better, motherfucker?
Jules: [laughing] Shit, negro, that's all you had to say!

The Wolf: Okay, first thing. You two, take the body, stick it in the trunk. Now, Jimmie, this looks to be a pretty domesticated house. That would lead me to believe that in the garage or under the sink, you've got a bunch of cleaners and cleansers and shit like that?
Jimmie: Yeah, yeah, Mr. Wolfe, under the sink.
The Wolf: Good. What I need you two fellas to do is take those cleaning products and clean the inside of the car. I'm talking fast, fast, fast. You need to go in the back seat, scoop up all those little pieces of brain and skull, get it out of there, wipe down the upholstery. Now, when it comes to upholstery, it don't need to be spic-and-span. You don't need to eat off it, just give it a good once-over. What you need to take care of are the really messy parts. The pools of blood that have collected, you got to soak that shit up. Now, Jimmie, we need to raid your linen closet. I need blankets, I need comforters, I need quilts, I need bedspreads. The thicker the better, the darker the better. No whites, can't use 'em. We need to camouflage the interior of the car. We're going to line the front seat and the back seat and the floorboards with quilts and blankets. So, if a cop stops us and starts sticking his big snout in the car, the subterfuge won't last, but at a glance, the car will appear to be normal. Jimmie, lead the way. Boys, get to work.
Vincent: "Please" would be nice.
The Wolf: Come again?
Vincent: I said a "please" would be nice.
The Wolf: Get it straight, Buster. I'm not here to say "please". I'm here to tell you what to do. And if self-preservation is an instinct you possess, you better fucking do it and do it quick. I'm here to help. If my help's not appreciated, lots of luck, gentlemen.
Jules: No, no, no, Mr. Wolfe, it ain't like that. Your help is definitely appreciated.
Vincent: Mr. Wolfe, listen. I don't mean disrespect, okay? I respect you. I just don't like people barking orders at me, that's all.
The Wolf: If I'm curt with you, it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you guys to act fast if you want to get out of this. So pretty please, with sugar on top, clean the fucking car.

Jules: [while cleaning the bloodied car] Oh man, I will never forgive your ass for this shit. This is some fucked up repugnant shit.
Vincent: Jules, did you ever hear the philosophy that once a man admits that he is wrong, that he is immediately forgiven for all wrongdoings? Have you ever heard that?
Jules: Get the fuck outta my face with that shit. The motherfucker who said that shit never had to pick up itty bitty pieces of skull on the account of your dumb ass.
Vincent: I got a threshold, Jules, I got a threshold for the abuse that I will take. And right now I’m a fucking race-car, alright, and you got me in the red. And I’m just saying, I’m just saying that it’s fucking dangerous to have a race-car in the fucking red, that’s all. I could blow.
Jules: Oh, oh, you ready to blow?
Vincent: Yeah, I’m ready to blow.
Jules: Well I’m a mushroom cloud layin’ motherfucker, motherfucker. Every time my fingers touch brain, I’m "Superfly TNT". I’m "The Guns of the Navarone". In fact, what the fuck am I doing in the back? You the motherfucker should be on brain detail. We’re fucking switching. I’m washing the windows, and you picking up this nigga's skull.

Jimmie: I can't believe this is the same car.
The Wolf: Well, let's not start sucking each other's dicks quite yet.

Vincent: Want some bacon?
Jules: No, man. I don't eat pork.
Vincent: Are you Jewish?
Jules: Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
Vincent: Why not?
Jules: Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent: Yeah, but bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good.
Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eatin' nothing that ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dog eats its own feces.
Jules: I don't eat dog either.
Vincent: Yeah, but do you consider a dog to be a filthy animal?
Jules: I wouldn't go so far as to call a dog filthy, but they're definitely dirty. But, a dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent: Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well, we'd have to be talkin' about one charming motherfucking pig. I mean, he'd have to be ten times more charming than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm saying?
Vincent: [laughing] That's good.

Jules: Man, I just been sitting here thinking.
Vincent: About what?
Jules: About the miracle we just witnessed.
Vincent: The miracle you witnessed. I witnessed a freak occurrence.
Jules: What is a miracle, Vincent?
Vincent: An act of God.
Jules: And what's an act of God?
Vincent: When God makes the impossible possible. But this morning, I don't think it qualifies.
Jules: Hey, Vincent, don't you see? That shit don't matter. You're judging this shit the wrong way. I mean, it could be that God stopped the bullets, or He changed Coke to Pepsi, He found my fucking car keys. You don't judge shit like this based on merit. Now, whether or not what we experienced was an "according to Hoyle" miracle is insignificant. What is significant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.
Vincent: But why?
Jules: Well, that's what's fucking with me. I don't know why, but I can't go back to sleep.
Vincent: You serious? You're really thinking about quitting?
Jules: The life?
Vincent: Yeah.
Jules: Most definitely.
Vincent: Oh, fuck. What'cha gonna do, then?
Jules: Well, that's what I've been sitting here contemplating. First, I'm going to deliver this case to Marsellus, then, basically, I'm just going to walk the Earth.
Vincent: What'cha mean, "walk the Earth"?
Jules: You know, like Caine in Kung Fu: walk from place to place, meet people, get into adventures.
Vincent: And how long do you intend to walk the Earth?
Jules: Until God puts me where He wants me to be.
Vincent: And what if He don't do that?
Jules: If it takes forever, then I'll walk forever.
Vincent: So you decided to be a bum?
Jules: I'll just be Jules, Vincent; no more, no less.
Vincent: No, Jules. You've decided to be a bum. Just like those pieces of shit out there who beg for change, sleep in garbage bins and eat what I throw away. They got a name for that, Jules: it's called "a bum". And without a job, a residence or legal tender, that's exactly what you're going to be: a fucking bum.
Jules: Look, my friend, this is just where you and I differ.
Vincent: Jules, look, what happened this morning, I agree, it was peculiar. But water into wine, I...
Jules: All shapes and sizes, Vincent.
Vincent: Don't fucking talk to me like that, man.
Jules: If my answers frighten you, then you should cease asking scary questions.
Vincent: [pauses, looking annoyed] I'm gonna take a shit. Let me ask you something, when did you make this decision? When you were sitting there eating that muffin?
Jules: Yeah, I was sitting here, eating my muffin and drinking my coffee and replaying the incident in my head, when I had what alcoholics refer to as a moment of clarity.
Vincent: Fuck. To be continued.

[Jules has a gun on Ringo; Yolanda points a gun at Jules, yelling hysterically]
Yolanda: Don't you hurt him!
Jules: Nobody's gonna hurt anybody. We're all gonna be three little Fonzies here, and what's Fonzie like?
[Yolanda stares at him, confused]
Jules: Come on, Yolanda! What's Fonzie like?!
Yolanda: Cool?
Jules: What?
Yolanda: Cool.
Jules: Correct-a-mundo! And that's what we're gonna be - we're gonna be cool.


  • Girls like me don't make invitations like this to just anyone!
  • You won't know the facts until you've seen the fiction
  • Zed's dead, baby. Zed's dead.


See also[edit]

External links[edit]

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