Tyrone C. Love: California, here we come.
Harry Goldfarb: It's Florida, Ty. Florida.
Tyrone C. Love: California, Florida, whatever. Either way, your pale ass is getting a tan.
Sara Goldfarb: I'm thinking thin.
Mr. Rabinowitz: Such a son. Your mother needs you like a moose needs a hat rack.
Tappy Tibbons: Now we come to step three. This... drives... most... people... crazy.
Harry Goldfarb: Hey, Ma? You on uppers?
Harry Goldfarb: What was I supposed to do? I'm gonna sit around and watch you push off and not go myself?
[trying to tell the doctor that her pill addiction is making her mixed up and confused]
Sara Goldfarb: Everything's all mixed up, confused.
Dr. Pill: [writing a new prescription] That's nothing to worry about. Just get this filled. Make an appointment for a week.
Laughing Guard: That's the trouble with ya New York dope fiends. Ya got a rotten attitude.
Mr. Rabinowitz: Good afternoon, Mrs. Goldfarb.
Sara Goldfarb: Good afternoon, Mr. Rabinowitz, although I'm not so sure how good it is.
[chanting]
Tappy Tibbons: Be excited, be, be excited.
Marion: [yells] You smug fuck.
Tyrone C. Love: DY-NO-MITE!
Tyrone: [about the TV] Shit, this muthafucka's startin' to look a little seedy, man.
Harry: What's the matter, you particular all the sudden?
Tyrone: Hey, baby, I don't care if the motherfucker's growing hair just so long as we get our bread.
Sara Goldfarb: Harold, I'm gonna be on television.
Ada: She's thinking thin.
Harry Goldfarb: This is our only chance to make it big.
Tyrone C. Love: C'mon baby let's do this... naturally.
Big Tim: You know what I like best about paddy chicks? They give good head. But black broads don't know nothing about no head. I don't know why. Maybe it has something to do with some ancient tribal customs.
Harry Goldfarb: Let's do this right.
Tyrone: Naturally.
