Pulp Fiction

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Pulp Fiction is a 1994 independent film about the lives of two mob hit men, a boxer, a gangster's wife, and a pair of diner bandits that intertwine in four tales of violence and redemption.

Written and directed by Quentin Tarantino.


Jules Winnfield

  • There's this 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 my name is The Lord when I lay my vengeance upon thee. And I will execute great vengeance upon them with furious rebukes; and they shall know that I am the LORD, when I shall lay my vengeance upon them." I been saying that shit for years. And if you heard it, that meant your ass. I never gave much thought to what it meant. I just thought it was some cold-blooded shit to say to a motherfucker before I popped a cap in his ass. But I saw some shit this morning made me think twice. See, now I'm thinking, maybe it means you're the evil man, and I'm the righteous man. And Mr. 9mm here, he's the shepherd protecting my righteous ass in the valley of darkness. Or, it could mean 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 trying, Ringo. I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd.

Marsellus Wallace

  • 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.

Captain Koons

  • [to young Butch] Hello, little man. Boy, I sure heard a bunch about you. See, I was a good friend of your dad's. We were in that Hanoi pit of hell together for over five years. Hopefully, you'll never have to experience this yourself, but when two men are in a situation like me and your dad were, for as long as we were, you take on certain responsibilities of the other. If it had been me who had not made it, Major Coolidge would be talking right now to my son Jim. But the way it turned out is I'm talking to you, Butch. I got something for ya. [Holds up watch] This watch I got here was first purchased by your great-grandfather during the first world war. It was bought in a little general store in Knoxville, Tennessee, made by the first company to ever make wrist watches. Up until then, people just carried pocket watches. It was bought by Private Doughboy Ryan Coolidge the day he set sail for Paris. This was your great-grandfather's war watch, and he wore it every day he was in the war. Then when he had done his duty, he went home to your great-grandmother, took the watch and put it in an old coffee can. And in that can it stayed 'til your granddad Dane Coolidge was called upon by his country to go overseas and fight the Germans once again. This time they called it World War Two. Your great-granddad gave this watch to your granddad for good luck. Unfortunately, Dane's luck wasn't as good as his old man's. Dane was a Marine and he was killed along with all the other Marines at the battle of Wake Island. Your granddad was facing death, and he knew it. None of those boys had any illusions about ever leaving that island alive. So three days before the Japanese took the island, your granddad asked a gunner on an Air Force transport named Winocki, a man he had never met before in his life, to deliver to his infant son, who he had never seen in the flesh, his gold watch. Three days later, your grandfather was dead. But Winocki kept his word. After the war was over, he paid a visit to your grandmother, delivering to your infant father, his Dad's gold watch. This watch. This watch was on your Daddy's wrist when he was shot down over Hanoi. He was captured and put in a Vietnamese prison camp. He knew if the gooks ever saw the watch that it'd be confiscated; taken away. The way your Dad looked at it, this watch was your birthright. He'd be damned if any slopes were gonna put 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 hunk 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.

Dialogue

Vincent: I break it down like this: it's legal to buy it, it's legal to own it, and if you're the proprietor of a hash bar, it's legal to sell it. It's legal to carry it, but that doesn't really matter 'cause get a load of this, all right? If you get stopped by the cops in Amsterdam, it's illegal for them to search you. I mean, that's a right the cops in Amsterdam don't have.
Jules: [laughing] Oh, man! I'm going, that's all there is to it. I'm fucking going.
Vincent: Yeah baby, you'd dig it the most. But you know what the funniest thing about Europe is?
Jules: What?
Vincent: It's the little differences. I mean, they got the same shit over there that they got here, but it's just – it's just there it's a little different.
Jules: Example?
Vincent: All right. Well, you can walk into a movie theater in Amsterdam and buy a beer. And I don't mean just like in no paper cup, I'm talking about a glass of beer. And in Paris, you can buy a beer at McDonald's. And you know what they call a Quarter Pounder with Cheese in Paris?
Jules: They don't call it a Quarter Pounder with Cheese?
Vincent: Nah, man, they got the metric system. They wouldn't know what the fuck a Quarter Pounder is.
Jules: What do they call it?
Vincent: They call it a "Royale with Cheese."
Jules: "Royale with Cheese."
Vincent: That's right.
Jules: What do they call a Big Mac?
Vincent: A Big Mac's a Big Mac, but they call it "Le Big Mac".
Jules: "Le Big Mac." [laughs]

Jules: Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop right there. Eating a bitch out and giving a bitch a foot massage ain't even the same fucking thing.
Vincent: It's not, it's the same ballpark.
Jules: It ain't no fucking ball park neither! Now look, maybe your method of massage differs from mine, but you know touching his wife's feet and sticking your tongue in the holiest of holies ain't the same fucking ball park. It ain't the same league. It ain't even the same fucking sport! Look, foot massages don't mean shit!
Vincent: Have you ever given a foot massage?
Jules: Don't be telling me about foot massages, I'm the foot fuckin' master.
Vincent: Given a lot of them?
Jules: Shit, yeah. I got my technique down and everything, I don't be tickling or nothing.
Vincent: Would you give a guy a foot massage?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You give them a lot?
Jules: Fuck you.
Vincent: You know, I'm getting kinda tired, I could use a foot massage myself.
Jules: Yo-yo-yo, man, you best back off, I'm getting pissed here. Look, just 'cause I wouldn't give no man a foot massage don't make it right for Marsellus to throw Antoine into a glass motherfucking house fucking up the way the nigger talks. That shit ain't right. Motherfucker do that shit to me, he better paralyze my ass because I'd kill the motherfucker, know what I'm saying?
Vincent: I ain't saying it's right. But you're saying a foot massage don't mean nothing, and I'm saying it does. Now look, I've given a million ladies a million foot massages, and they all meant something. We act like they don't, but they do, and that's what's so fucking cool about them. There's a sensuous thing going on where you don't talk about it, but you know it, she knows it, fucking Marsellus knew it, and Antoine should have fucking better known better. I mean, that's his fucking wife, man, he ain't have no sense of humor about that shit. You know what I'm saying?
Jules: That's an interesting point.

Brett: [to Jules] Look, I'm sorry, I didn't get your name. I got yours, uh, Vincent, right? But I--I didn't get yours.
Jules: My name is Pitt, and your ass ain't talking your way outta this shit.
Brett: [rising]: No, no, no. I just want you to know how-- [Jules motions him to sit down] I just want you to know how sorry we are that that things got so fucked up with us and Mr. Wallace. It, we-we got into this thing with the best intentions. I never inte--
[Jules shoots Flock-of-Seagulls, Brett recoils in horror]
Jules: Oh, I'm sorry. Did I break your concentration? I didn't mean to do that. Please, continue. You were sayin' something about "best intentions"? What's the matter? Oh, y-you were finished? Oh, well allow me to retort!
[Jules looks very upset]
Jules: What does Marsellus Wallace look like?
Brett: What?
Jules: [overturns the small table in the room] What country are you from?
Brett: What?
Jules: "What" ain't no country I ever heard of! They speak English in "What"?!
Brett: What?
Jules: English, motherfucker! Do you speak it?!
Brett: Yes!
Jules: Then you know what I'm saying. Describe what Marsellus Wallace looks like!
Brett: What?
Jules: [points gun at Brett] Say "what" again. Say "what" again! I dare you! I double-dare you, motherfucker! Say "what" one more goddamn time!
Brett: He-he's black.
Jules: Go on!
Brett: He's bald.
Jules: Does he look like a bitch?
Brett: What?!
Jules: [shoots Brett in the shoulder, Brett screams] Does... he look...like a BITCH?!
Brett: [in pain] No-o!
Jules: Then why'd you try 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 Marsellus Wallace don't like to be fucked by anybody, except Mrs. Wallace. You read the Bible, Brett?
Brett: [gasping for breath] Yes...
Jules: Well, there's this passage I've got memorized, sort'a fits the occasion. Ezekial 25:17? "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the iniquities 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. [begins pacing about the room] 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 name is the Lord [pulls out his gun and aims it at Brett] when I lay my vengeance upon thee!"
[Brett shrieks in horror as Jules and Vincent shoot him repeatedly]

Jules: Mmm! God damn, Jimmie! This is some serious gourmet shit! Usually, me and Vince would be happy with some freeze-dried Taster's Choice, but he springs this serious gourmet shit on us! What flavor is this?
Jimmie: Knock it off, Jules.
Jules: What?
Jimmie: I don't need you to tell me how fucking good my coffee is, okay? I'm the one who buys it, I know how good it is. When Bonnie goes shopping, she buys shit. Me, I buy the gourmet expensive stuff because when I drink it, I want to taste it. But you know what's on my mind right now? It ain't the coffee in my kitchen, it's the dead nigger in my garage.
Jules: Oh, Jimmie, don't even worry about that--
Jimmie: No, I wanna ask you a question. When you came pulling him here, did you notice a sign out in front of my house that said Dead Nigger Storage?
Jules: Jimmie, you know I ain't seen no--
Jimmie: Did you notice a sign out in front of my house that said "Dead Nigger Storage"?!
Jules: No, I didn't.
Jimmie: You know why you didn't see that sign?
Jules: Why?
Jimmie: 'Cause it ain't there, 'cause storing dead niggers ain't my fucking business, that's why!
Jules: But Jimmie, we ain't gonna store the motherfucker--
Jimmie: No, no, no, no, no, don't you fucking realize, man, that if Bonnie comes home and finds a dead body in her house, I'm gonna get divorced? All right? No marriage counseling, no trial separation, I'm going to get fucking divorced, okay? And I don't want to get fucking divorced! Now man, you know, fuck, I wanna help you, but I don't want to lose my wife doing it, all right?
Jules: Jimmie, Jimmie, she ain't gonna leave you--
Jimmie: Don't fucking "Jimmie" me, Jules, okay?! Don't fucking "Jimmie" me! There's nothing that you're gonna say that's gonna make me forget that I love my wife, is there?! Now look, you know, she comes home from work in about an hour and a half. Graveyard shift at the hospital. You gotta make some phone calls? You gotta call some people? Well, then do it! And then get the fuck out of my house before she gets here!
Jules: Hey, that's Kool and the Gang. You know, we don't wanna fuck your shit up. All we wanna do is call my people and get them to bring us in, that's all.
Jimmie: You don't wanna fuck my shit up? You're fucking up my shit right now! You're gonna fuck my shit up big time if Bonnie comes home. So just do me that favor, all right? The phone is in my bedroom, I suggest you get going.

Vincent: A "please" would be nice.
The Wolf: Come again?
Vincent: I said a "please" would be nice.
The Wolf: Get it straight, Buster. I'm not here to say "please". I'm here to tell you what to do. And if self-preservation is an instinct you possess, you better fucking do it and do it quick. I'm here to help. If my help's not appreciated, lots of luck, gentlemen.
Jules: No no, Mr. Wolfe, it's not like that. Your help is definitely appreciated.
Vincent: Look, Mr. Wolfe, I respect you. I just don't like people barking orders at me, that's all.
The Wolf: If I'm curt with you, it's because time is a factor. I think fast, I talk fast, and I need you two guys to act fast if you want to get out of this. So pretty please, with sugar on top, clean the fucking car.

Mia Wallace: Don't you hate that?
Vincent: What?
Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?
Vincent: I don't know. That's a good question.
Mia: That's when you know you've found somebody special, when you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence.

Butch: What now?
Marsellus: What now? Let me tell you what now. I'm gonna call a couple of hard, pipe-hitting niggers to go to work on the homes here with a pair of pliers and a blow torch. You hear me talkin', hillbilly boy?! I ain't through with you! By a damn sight. I'm gonna get medieval on yo' ass!
Butch: I meant "what now" between me and you.
Marsellus: Oh, that "what now." I tell you "what now" between me and you. There is no "me and you". Not no more.
Butch: So we cool?
Marsellus: Yeah, we cool. Two things: one, don't tell nobody about this. This shit is between me, you, and Mr. soon-to-be-living-the-rest-of-his-short-ass-life-in-agonizing-pain rapist here. It ain't noboby else's business. Two, you leave town tonight, right now, and when you gone, you stay gone or you be gone. You lost all your L.A. privileges. Deal?
Butch: Deal.
Marsellus: Get your ass out of here.

Vincent Want some bacon?
Jules No man, I don't eat pork.
Vincent Are you Jewish?
Jules Nah, I ain't Jewish, I just don't dig on swine, that's all.
Vincent Why not?
Jules Pigs are filthy animals. I don't eat filthy animals.
Vincent Yeah, but bacon tastes good. Pork chops taste good.
Jules Hey, sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but I'd never know 'cause I wouldn't eat the filthy motherfucker. Pigs sleep and root in shit. That's a filthy animal. I ain't eatin' nothing that ain't got sense enough to disregard its own feces.
Vincent How about a dog? Dog eats its 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. A dog's got personality. Personality goes a long way.
Vincent Ah, so by that rationale, if a pig had a better personality, he would cease to be a filthy animal. Is that true?
Jules Well, we'd have to be talkin' about one charming motherfucking pig. I mean, he'd have to be ten times more charming than that Arnold on Green Acres, you know what I'm saying?
Vincent: [laughing] That's good.

Jules: Man, I just been sitting here thinking.
Vincent: About what?
Jules: About the miracle we just witnessed.
Vincent: The miracle you witnessed. I witnessed a freak occurrence.
Jules: What is a miracle, Vincent?
Vincent: An act of God.
Jules: And what's an act of God?
Vincent: When, um … God makes the impossible possible … but this morning I don't think qualifies.
Jules: Hey, Vincent, don't you see? That shit don't matter. You're judging this shit the wrong way. I mean, it could be that God stopped the bullets, or He changed Coke to Pepsi, He found my fucking car keys. You don't judge shit like this based on merit. Now, whether or not what we experienced was an "according to Hoyle" miracle is insignificant. What is significant is that I felt the touch of God. God got involved.
Vincent: But why?
Jules: Well, that's what's fucking with me. I don't know why, but I can't go back to sleep.

Cast

See also

External links

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