You're no messiah. You're a movie of the week. You're a fucking t-shirt, at best.
Go back to Jersey, sonny. This is the City of the Angels, and you haven't got any wings.
This guy's methodical, exacting, and worst of all, patient.
Oh, great. You get the girl, I get the coroner.
Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
What’s in the box? What’s in the fucking box?
A naked man with a gun? Do you really expect anyone to believe that?
Detective. Detective. DETECTIVE! You're looking for me.
Some men get the world. Others get ex-hookers and a trip to Arizona.
Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.