Top 30 Quotes From Ed O'Neill

Doyle: Just for the record, I don't hate my mother.
Dutch: Kiss my ass, for the record!

Dutch: You and I are riding in the back seat from now on. Because what that missile twister can teach you, you don't need to learn 'til you're in prison.

Dutch: I don't care for caviar, I make it a policy never to eat something a fish deposits in a riverbed.

Dutch: I may not look like I could finance a trip to the zoo but the truth is I make a pretty good living. My income is a damn lot more than your father gives your mother to live on. But my money doesn't matter in your neighborhood, because I work for it. Working for your money doesn't matter in your neck of the woods, it's whose crotch the doctor yanked you out of.

Mr. Hemple: Well, he should know that driving is a privilege, and not a right. A car is really just a means of getting from A to B, not a sort of phallic symbol. It's power under control. In the wrong hands, a car is a lethal weapon capable of horrendous damage. In many ways a car is a... pulverizing death monster, with a glass and steel persona. A vicious, unforgiving beast, whose lust for blood is matched only by its love of carnage. A killing machine, worthy of its nickname: The Widowmaker.
Various: Bogus.

Amelia: Shit! Cheney's here.
[puts the evidences into her pocket]
Captain: You talking to Rhyme on that thing? Give me the radio. Now, listen, Linc. This is Cheney, man. What the hell do you think you're doing? Stealing evidence is a goddamn felony. You know that.
Lincoln: To my understanding, there's no chain of evidence voucher.
Captain: Oh, yeah? Well, I got some news for you. You are not a cop anymore. You understand that? What you are is a fucking meddling cripple. Now, I'm gonna place your little gofer here under arrest. You don't mind that, do ya? Lock her up.
[looks back and finds Amelia gone]
Paulie: Where'd she go?

Dutch: Frankly, I don't care if you live, die, or grow mushrooms in your crack.

Dutch: [Angrily shoving Doyle back into the motel room] Listen, you little son of a bitch, you could've killed somebody with a stunt like that! That poor bastard was on his way home to see his family and because you wanted to play some kind of spoiled brat prank, you put his life in jeopardy. Now, what gives you the right to do that, huh?
Doyle: I guess I didn't think about that.
Dutch: [Shoves Doyle into the bathroom] Well, you better start thinking of a little something else, besides your own spoiled ass! I took on this idiotic assignment because I love your mother. I gotta wonder how nuts I am! Boy, I met some scum in my life, but you beat all, man. You are absolutely worthless. You know something? This isn't a joke, anymore. This is a full-blown mission. You're not gonna beat me. I've had my head split open, my nose mashed. I've been kicked and beat and left for dead and when I set you down on your mama's doorstep, you're gonna be one, whipped little puppy.
Doyle: [Gets himself ready to fight Dutch] Don't flatter yourself.
Dutch: Get your hands down.
Doyle: I'm not taking anymore of your crap! You touch me once more, you'll be sorry!
Dutch: You're saying you want to go? You want to go? Hell, I'd love to go! You want to go?
Doyle: Yeah.
Dutch: Okay, go ahead. Let's see if your punch is as big as your mouth. Only this time, no sissy kicks, no kamakize tricks, no sucker punches. Just good all-American street fighting. Now, let me show you how to do it, curl your little digits and balls up, so you don't hurt your little thumbies. All right, come on, give it to me, pipsqueak!
Doyle: [Doyle gives Dutch a right cross across the face and goes down, knocked out, with his butt raised up. Doyle looks down at his fist in horror and locks himself in the bathroom]

Dutch: You know, some day you're gonna get in a situation where you can't call for help. You'll have to depend on yourself, and you'll let yourself down. I'm not calling because I don't want your mother to think we can't make it home on our own. Call it male pride. Good, old fashioned, pig-headed, working-class, pre-fax machine/car phone, masculine pride. No accountants, no lawyers, no mommies, no daddies... no Washington lobbyists. Just a man and his wits.

Doyle: Fireworks are illegal in Illinois.
Dutch: Yes they are but this is Tennessee, so it doesn't matter.
Doyle: You're gonna detonate this material now?
Dutch: No not here in the gas station, you nuts? We'll go down the road a piece. I got M80s, Dragon Tongues, Bombay Bugles, Jersey Stinkers, Ha ha ha I don't even know what this is. For later I got a bag of pretzels and a deck of racy playing cards.
Doyle: You're like a great big demented child.
Dutch: Hee hee hee hee hee.

Doyle: We're here.
Dutch: Where?
Doyle: I don't know.

Dutch: How do you know I'm working-class?
Doyle: From your cheap shoes, to your ridiculous hairstyle, to your crude vocabulary, to my mother's taste in men, you scream it.
Dutch: And is working-class bad.
Doyle: If you want to get into a political discussion with me, I'll shred you. No, it's not bad. A solid economy needs hand workers.

Dutch: [after straightening things out with the truck driver, Dutch shoves Doyle into their motel room] Listen, you little son of a bitch, you could've killed somebody with a stunt like that! That poor bastard was on his way home to see his family and because you wanted to play some kind of spoiled-brat prank, you put his life in jeopardy. Now, what gives you the right to do that, huh?
Doyle: I guess I didn't think about that.
Dutch: [shoves him towards the bathroom] Well, you better start thinking of a little something else besides your own spoiled ass. I took on his idiotic assignment because I love your mother. I gotta wonder how nuts I am! Boy, I met some scum in my life, but you beat all, man. You are absolutely worthless. You know what? This isn't a joke anymore. This is a full-blown mission. You're not gonna beat me. I've had my head split open, my nose mashed, I've been kicked and beat and left for dead and when I set you down on your mother's doorstep, you're gonna be one whipped little puppy.
Doyle: [advances his hands martial-arts style] Don't flatter yourself.
Dutch: Get your hands down.
Doyle: I'm not taking anymore of your crap! You touch me once more, you'll be sorry!
Dutch: You say you want to go? You want to go? Hell, I'd love to go! You want to go?
Doyle: [eager] Yeah, I do.
Dutch: Okay, then. Let's see if your punch is as big as your mouth. Only this time, no sissy kicks, no kamikize kicks, no sucker punches. Just good American street fighting. Now, let me show how you do it.
[he helps Doyle curl up his knuckles into fists]
Dutch: Just curl up your little digits and thumbies, so you don't hurt them. All right, come on, give it to me, pipsqueak!
[he lands a hard punch into Dutch's face, knocking him to the floor unconscious, with his rear end facing up. Doyle, shocked and fearful, goes into the bathroom and locks the door]

Dutch: It's your mother's fault.
Doyle: Why is it her fault?
Dutch: Because she gave birth to you.
Doyle: And what about your mother?
Dutch: My mother's a saint.
Doyle: For what, havin' puppies?

Dutch: There's no better way for two guys to get to know each other better than to spend a couple of days in a car.

[Doyle doesn't want to come with Dutch; Dutch carries him out of his dorm slung underneath a hockey stick, with his hands and feet tied to the stick and a gag in his mouth]
Dutch: What do you like to do for fun?
[Doyle struggles to get loose, grunting around the gag]
Dutch: Oh, you like to wiggle and grunt. Me too.

Dutch: I've talked to you and talked to you until I can puke coat hangers.

Doyle: I could have frozen to death, you asshole!
Dutch: I don't think you would have frozen. Not solid, anyway, it's not quite cold enough for that. Here's the deal, Dobsie: I don't screw around. You piss me off, I react. I'm not your daddy, I'm not your friend, I'm not your uncle. I'm a working-class nobody, and I don't take crap from kiddies.

Dutch: You might be the toughest little whacker at the junior high but in my world, you're about as worrisome as a cloudy day.

[Doyle insists that Dutch stop the car, Dutch sarcastically slams on the brakes, tossing Doyle on the floorboard]
Dutch: You can't beat a Ford for good brakes!

Lincoln: Nitrogen rich, explosive carbons, where do you find those in New York City?
Paulie: Bomb sites, shooting ranges.
Amelia: Maybe an old fort or an armory?
Eddie: Let's not forget the shit factor, guys.
Lincoln: The what?
Eddie: Manure becomes a nitrate when it's aged.
Lincoln: That's true. And you got cow bones, huh? Old cow bones, old manure. Turn of the century. Cows, farms... pastures, rats... dead cows. Where do you find... In stockyards... slaughterhouses, that's what we want to look for.

Dutch: Excuse me, I understand what you were saying to Natalie was personal. Well, I'm involved with her now so this is personal too; you hurt her and I'll hit you so fucking hard your dog will bleed, okay?

Dutch: I feel the pain in my crotch in my teeth!

Doyle: We have a very big problem here.
Dutch: I suppose we do. I have a problem because I told your mother I'd pick you up. And you have a problem because the last guy that punched me has a dent in his forehead the size of my pinky ring, and he dribbles when he smiles.

Doyle: You have no plan, do you?
Dutch: I have a rough outline.

Dutch: I told your mother I'd take you home for the holidays.
Doyle: I have plans.
Dutch: You gonna stay here? Watch the football game on TV? Make a turkey sandwich and hang yourself in the toilet?

Doyle: I don't hate my mother. For the record!
Dutch: Kiss my ass for the record!

Paulie: [Amelia drives the car screeching from lane to lane] Jesus Christ! I'd like to get there in one piece, if possible.

Dutch: I still owe you that shot in the ass, in case it's gnawing on your mind.

Doyle: You still gonna shoot me in the ass?
Dutch: [smiling] Yes.