Алюминиевые перегородки Киев делает в большом количестве, что б удовлетворить спрос. Pulp /пульпа/: Мягкая, влажная, бесформенная масса вещества....Pulp fiction /буквально-бульварное чтиво/: Журнал или книга, как правило дешевого содержания, напечатанная на грубой бумаге
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Butch: Will you hand me a towel, tulip?
Fabienne: Ah, I like that. I like tulip. Tulip is much better than mongoloid.

Marsellus: In the fifth, your ass goes down. Say it.
Butch: In the fifth, my ass goes down.

Mia: I do believe Marsellus Wallace, my husband, your boss, told you to take ME out and do WHATEVER I WANTED. I wanna dance, I wanna win. I want that trophy, so dance good.

The Wolf: That's thirty minutes away. I'll be there in ten.

Jules: Normally, both of you would be dead as fucking fried chicken by now, but since I'm in a transitional period, I don't want to kill either one of your asses.

Jimmie: Well, the thing on my mind right now isn't the good coffee in my cup, it's the dead nigger in my garage.

Jules: Whether or not what we experienced was an According to Hoyle miracle is irrelevant. What is relevant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.

Jimmie: I'm gonna get divorced. No marriage conselling, no trial separation, divorced.

Honey Bunny: Any of you fuckin' pricks move, and I'll execute every mother fuckin' last one of ya.

Vincent Vega: And you know what they call a ... a ... a Quarter Pounder with cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with cheese?
Vincent Vega: No man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules: Then what do they call it?
Vincent Vega: They call it a "Royale" with cheese.
Jules: A "Royale" with cheese! What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent Vega: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "le Big-Mac".
Jules: "Le Big-Mac"! Ha ha ha ha! What do they call a Whopper?
Vincent Vega: I dunno, I didn't go into Burger King.

Vincent: We should have shotguns for this.

Butch: You okay?
Marcellus: No. I'm pretty fuckin' far from okay.

Jules: Whoa...whoa...whoa...stop right there. Eatin' a bitch out, and givin' a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fuckin' thing.
Vincent: Not the same thing, the same ballpark.
Jules: It ain't no ballpark either. Look maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but touchin' his lady's feet, and stickin' your tongue in her holyiest of holies, ain't the same ballpark, ain't the same league, ain't even the same fuckin' sport. Foot massages don't mean shit.
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be tellin' me about foot massages - I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: Given a lot of 'em?
Jules: Shit yeah. I got my technique down man, I don't tickle or nothin'.
Vincent: Have you ever given a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: How many?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: Would you give me a foot massage? I'm kinda tired.
Jules: Man, you best back off, I'm gittin' pissed.

Jules: Check out the big brain on Brett!

Jules: What does Marcellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: [pointing his gun] Say "what" again. SAY "WHAT" AGAIN! I dare you, I double dare you, motherfucker! Say "what" one more goddamn time!
Brett: He's b-b-black...
Jules: Go on.
Brett: He's bald...
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?
[Jules shoots Brett in shoulder]
Brett: NO!
Jules: Then why you trying to fuck him like a bitch, Brett?
Brett: I didn't!
Jules: Yes you did. Yes you did, Brett. You tried to fuck him. And Marcellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace.

[Jules shoots the guy on the couch during Brett's interrogation]
Jules: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration?

Marcellus: No one needs to know about this except you, me and Mr.-soon-to-be-living-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing -pain-rapist here.

Vincent Vega: That's a pretty fucking good milkshake. I don't know if it's worth five dollars but it's pretty fucking good.

[Marcellus is telling Butch to take a dive.]
Marcellus: 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.

[Ezekiel 25:17 among others17 among others]
Jules: The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities 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. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my brothers. And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee.

[Vincent Vega goes up to Butch at the bar]
Butch: What're you looking at, friend?
Vincent Vega: I ain't your friend, Palooka.
Butch: What did you say?
Vincent Vega: I think you heard me just fine, Punchy.

[After a long pause in their conversation]
Mia Wallace: Don't you hate that?
Vincent Vega: Hate what?
Mia Wallace: Uncomfortable silences.

Mia: Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to become comfortable?

Lance: You're going to give her an injection of adrenaline directly to her heart.
Vincent: Then what happens?
Lance: I'm curious about that myself.

Marcellus: I'm prepared to scour the the Earth for that motherfucker. If Butch goes to Indochina, I want a nigger waiting in a bowl of rice ready to pop a cap in his ass.

Butch: I think I have a broken rib.
Fabienne: From giving me oral pleasure?

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.

Captain Koons: The way your dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He'd be damned if any of the slopes were gonna get their greasy yellow hands on his boy's birthright. So he hid it in the one place he knew he could hide something: his ass. Five long years, he wore this watch up his ass. Then when he died of dysentery, he gave me the watch. I hid this uncomfortable piece of metal up my ass for two years. Then, after seven years, I was sent home to my family. And now, little man, I give the watch to you.

Esmerelda Villalobos: What is your name?
Butch: Butch.
Esmerelda Villalobos: What does it mean?
Butch: I'm American, honey, our names don't mean shit.

[Jules and Vinnie take Marvin with them in their car and Vinnie's gun goes off and blows Marvin's head off]
Jules: Oh! Fuck's happening!
Vincent Vega: Man, I shot Marvin in the face.
Jules: Why the fuck did you do that! Oh man I've seen some crazy ass shit in my time!
Vincent Vega: Chill out, man. I told you it was an accident. You probably went over a bump or something.
Jules: Hey, the car didn't hit no motherfucking bump.
Vincent Vega: 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.
Vincent Vega: I don't believe it.
Jules: Well believe it now, motherfucker! We gotta get this car off the road. You know cops tend to notice shit like your driving a car drenched in fucking blood.
Vincent Vega: Take it to a friendly place, that's all.
Jules: We're in the Valley, Vincent! Marcellus ain't got no friendly places in the Valley.
Vincent Vega: Well Jules this ain't my fucking town! Shit! What you doin'?
[Jules dials a number on his cellular phone]
Jules: I'm calling my partner in Toluca Lake.
Vincent Vega: Where's Toluca Lake?
Jules: Just over the hill here over by Burbank Studios. If Jimmie's ass ain't home, I don't what the fuck we're going to do, man. 'Cause I ain't got no other partners in 8-1-8. Hey Jimmie, yo, how you doin'? It's Jules. Listen up man. Me and my homeboy are in serious fucking shit. We're in a car and we gotta get off the road, pronto. I need to use your garage for a couple of hours.

Jimmie: Now let me ask you a question, Jules. When you drove in here, did you notice a sign out in front that said, "Dead nigger storage"?
Jules: Jimmie...
Jimmie: Answer the question! Did you see a sign out in front of my house that said "Dead nigger storage"?
Jules: Naw man, I didn't.
Jimmie: You know why you didn't see that sign?
Jules: Why?
Jimmie: 'Cause storin' dead niggers ain't my fuckin' business!

Jules: I don't wanna hear about no motherfuckin' ifs. All I wanna hear from yo' ass is, "You ain't got no problem, Jules. I'm on the motherfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggaz out and wait for the calvery which should be coming directly."
Marcellus: You ain't got no problem Jules. I'm on the moterfucker. Go back in there, chill them niggaz out and wait for the Wolf who should be coming directly.

[Winston Wolf takes exception to Vincent's taking exception to his brusque manner]
Winston Wolf: So, pretty please - with sugar on top ... clean the fuckin' car!

Jimmie: I can't believe this is the same car!
Winston Wolf: Well, let's not start sucking each others dicks just yet.

Vincent Vega: Bacon tastes gooood. Pork chops tastes gooood.

Jules: I'm a mushroom cloud laying motherfucker, motherfucker.

Vincent Vega: Jules, if you give that fuckin' nimrod fifteen hundred dollars, I'm gonna shoot him on general principles.

Jules: Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfuckers. Pig sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eat nothin' that ain't got enough sense to disregard its own feces.
Vincent: How about a dog? Dogs eat their 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, it'd cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules: Well we gotta be talkin' about one charmin' motherfuckin' pig. I mean he'd have to be ten times more charmin' than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm sayin'?

Jules: We're all gonna be three little Fonzies - and what what was Fonzie?!
Yolanda: Cool?
Jules: Correct-a-mundo!

Jules: Yolanda, I thought you were gonna be cool. When you yell at me, it makes me nervous. When I get nervous, I get scared. And when motherfuckers get scared, that's when motherfuckers get accidentally shot.

Jules Winnfield: Hand me my wallet.
Pumpkin: Which one is it?
Jules Winnfield: It's the one with "bad motherfucker" written on it.

Jules Winnfield: Wanna know what I'm buyin' Ringo?
Pumpkin: What?
Jules Winnfield: Your life. I'm givin' you that money so I don't hafta kill your ass. You read the Bible?
Pumpkin: Not regularly.
Jules Winnfield: There's a passage I got memorized. Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the inequities 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 the darkness. For he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost children. 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 I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you." I been sayin' that shit for years. And if you ever heard it, it meant your ass. I never really questioned what it meant. I thought it was just a cold-blooded thing to say to a motherfucker before you popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this mornin' made me think twice. Now I'm thinkin': it could mean you're the evil man. And I'm the righteous man. And Mr. .45 here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or is could by you're the righteous man and I'm the shepherd and it's the world that's evil and selfish. I'd like that. But that shit ain't the truth. The truth is you're the weak. And I'm the tyranny of evil men. But I'm tryin, Ringo. I'm tryin' real hard to be a shepherd.

Maynard: Nobody kills anybody in my place of business except me or Zed.

[Cleaning their bloody hands.]
Jules Winnfield: Fuck, nigger, what did you do to his towel?
Vincent Vega: I was dryin' my hands.
Jules Winnfield: You're supposed to wash 'em first.
Vincent Vega: You watched me wash 'em.
Jules Winnfield: I watched you get 'em wet.
Vincent Vega: I washed 'em. This shit's hard to get off. Maybe if I had Lava or something, I coulda done a better job.
Jules Winnfield: I used the same fuckin' soap you did and when I got finished, the towel didn't look like no god-damn Maxi-Pad!!

Jules Winnfield: If my answers frighten you then you should cease asking scary questions.

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