Biff: Go ahead, kid. Jump. A suicide will be nice and neat.
Marty: What if I don't?
Biff: [raising gun] Lead poisoning.
Marty: What about the police, Biff? They're gonna match up the bullet with that gun.
Biff: Kid, I own the police. Besides, they couldn't match up the bullet that killed your old man.
Marty: You son of a...
[Biff pulls back on the gun's hammer.]
Biff: Suppose it's poetic justice. Two McFlys with the same gun.
Terence Mann: Ray, people will come Ray. They'll come to Iowa for reasons they can't even fathom. They'll turn up your driveway not knowing for sure why they're doing it. They'll arrive at your door as innocent as children, longing for the past. Of course, we won't mind if you look around, you'll say. It's only $20 per person. They'll pass over the money without even thinking about it: for it is money they have and peace they lack. And they'll walk out to the bleachers; sit in shirtsleeves on a perfect afternoon. They'll find they have reserved seats somewhere along one of the baselines, where they sat when they were children and cheered their heroes. And they'll watch the game and it'll be as if they dipped themselves in magic waters. The memories will be so thick they'll have to brush them away from their faces. People will come Ray. The one constant through all the years, Ray, has been baseball. America has rolled by like an army of steamrollers. It has been erased like a blackboard, rebuilt and erased again. But baseball has marked the time. This field, this game: it's a part of our past, Ray. It reminds of us of all that once was good and it could be again. Oh... People will come Ray. People will most definitely come.
Lucas: Pick any game you want. I'm good at all of 'em. I've got 97 of 'em.
Haley: You know all 97 of them?
Maurice: Hey, dude. Come here bud. You don't know it yet, but tonight is your lucky night.
Brian Stevenson: What do you mean?
Maurice: I mean.
Brian Stevenson: I know, you're going to grant me three wishes, right?
Maurice: Wishes? Wishes? Wishes are bush-league leprechaun, pal. I'm a monster, okay. Listen to this. I'm a monster and monsters don't do wishes.
Brian Stevenson: Then what do monsters do?
Maurice: Good question. I have the time of my life.