Free Fire

Stevo: Man, I hate house guests. Yesterday he put my shoes out on the porch and polished them. I mean, what the fuck does that even mean?

Chris: Come here, Justine. You're not FBI, are you?
Justine: I'm I.I.F.M.
Chris: What?
Justine: In it for myself.

Frank: You think this is cold, sweetheart? You should try Holywood in February. Freeze the tits of a brass witch.
Ord: Only thing a girl needs to stay warm in Los Angeles is a flexible outlook.
Frank: I'm not talking about your Hollywood. I'm talking about the real Holywood. Holywood, County Down, Northern Ireland. Not your Cecil B. DeMille bullshit.
Ord: You guys got a Hollywood, too? That's what I like about this business. It can be financially rewarding and you can still learn something new everyday.

Vernon: So, let's open Pandora's box, eh?

Frank: Sympathy's in the dictionary between "shit" and "syphilis," son, all right?

Ord: Whatever. I forgot whose side I'm on.

Martin: I'm not dead. I'm just regrouping.

Vernon: You've got two choices. One, you distract them with your badinage and I leave.
Ord: My what?
Vernon: Or two, you kill all of these motherfuckers and I leave.

Gordon: That's why I appreciate the arts, you know? If it wasn't for them, then all we're doing... is just this.

Gordon: You seem like a nice girl.
Justine: We can't all be nice girls.

Ord: Let's get the fuck out of here. You could catch your death of cold in here.

Ord: All right, I got a John Denver story for you. So...

Justine: So, about dinner... can I take a rain check?
Chris: Hey, you take what you want, girl.

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