Best comedy movie quotes of all time
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Jim: Well, it got so that every piss-ant prairie punk who thought he could shoot a gun would ride into town to try out the Waco Kid. I must have killed more men than Cecil B. DeMille. It got pretty gritty. I started to hear the word "draw" in my sleep. Then one day, I was just walking down the street when I heard a voice behind me say, "Reach for it, mister!" I spun around... And there I was, face-to-face with a six-year old kid. Well, I just threw my guns down and walked away. Little bastard shot me in the ass. So I limped to the nearest saloon, crawled inside a whiskey bottle, and I've been there ever since.
Vizzini: Inconceivable! Give her to me. Catch up with us quickly!
Fezzik: What do I do?
Vizzini: Finish him, finish him - your way.
Fezzik: Oh, good. My way. Thank you Vizzini. Which way's my way?
Vizzini: Pick up one of those rocks, get behind the boulder. In a few minutes, the man in black will come running around the bend. The minute his head is in view, HIT IT WITH THE ROCK!
Fezzik: My way is not very sportsmanlike.
Grandpa Joe: Mr. Wonka, I don't know if you remember me, but I used to work here in the factory.
Willy Wonka: Were you one of those despicable spies who everyday tried to steal my life's work and sell it to those parasitic copycat candy making cads?
Grandpa Joe: No, sir.
Willy Wonka: Then wonderful, welcome back.
Jack Sparrow: Who makes all these?
Will Turner: I do. And I practice with them... Three hours a day.
Jack Sparrow: You need to get yourself a girl, mate. Or perhaps the reason you practice three hours a day is that you've already found one and are otherwise incapable of wooing said strumpet. You're not a eunuch, are you?
Gingy: Ok, ok...I'll tell you. Do you know the Muffin Man?
Farquad: The Muffin Man?
Gingy: The Muffin Man.
Farquad: Yes, I know the Muffin Man. Who lives on Drury Lane?
Gingy: Well...she's married to...the Muffin Man.
Farquad: The Muffin Man?
Gingy: The Muffin Man!
Farquad: She's married to the Muffin Man?
Nigel: The numbers all go to eleven. Look, right across the board, eleven, eleven, eleven and...
Martin: Oh, I see. And most amps go up to ten?
Martin: Does that mean it's louder? Is it any louder?
Nigel: Well, it's one louder, isn't it? It's not ten. You see, most blokes, you know, will be playing at ten. You're on ten here, all the way up, all the way up, all the way up, you're on ten on your guitar. Where can you go from there? Where?
Martin: I don't know.
Nigel: Nowhere. Exactly. What we do is, if we need that extra push over the cliff, you know what we do?
Martin: Put it up to eleven.
Nigel: Elevn. Exactly. One louder.
Martin: Why don't you just make ten louder and make ten be the top number and make that a little louder?
Nigel: These go to eleven.
Melvin Udall: I've got a really great compliment for you, and it's true.
Carol Connelly: I'm so afraid you're about to say something awful.
Melvin Udall: Don't be pessimistic, it's not your style. Okay, here I go: Clearly, a mistake. I've got this, what - ailment? My doctor, a shrink that I used to go to all the time, he says that in fifty or sixty percent of the cases, a pill really helps. I *hate* pills, very dangerous thing, pills. Hate. I'm using the word "hate" here, about pills. Hate. My compliment is, that night when you came over and told me that you would never... All right, well, you were there, you know what you said. Well, my compliment to you is, the next morning, I started taking the pills.
Carol Connelly: I don't quite get how that's a compliment for me.
Melvin Udall: You make me want to be a better man.
Carol Connelly: ...That's maybe the best compliment of my life.
Melvin Udall: Well, maybe I overshot a little, because I was aiming at just enough to keep you from walking out.
The Grinch: The nerve of those Whos. Inviting me down there - and on such short notice. Even if I wanted to go my schedule wouldn't allow it. Four o'clock, wallow in self pity; 4:30, stare into the abyss; 5:00, solve world hunger, tell no one. 5:30, jazzercize. 6:30, dinner with me. I can't cancel that again. 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing; I'm booked. Of course, if I bump the loathing to 9 I could still be done in time to lay in bed, stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness. But what would I wear?