Simon Phoenix: Spartan? John Spartan? Oh shit! They let anybody into this century.
John Spartan: Send a maniac to catch a maniac.
John Spartan: You're going to regret this for the rest of your life. Both seconds of it!
Lenina Huxley: Would you like to have sex?
John Spartan: With you?
John Spartan: Oh, yeah.
[After futuristic, contact-free "sex."]
John Spartan: I was thinkin' we could do it the old-fashioned way.
Lenina Huxley: You mean... *fluid transfer*?
Simon Phoenix: I've been dreaming about killing you for 30 years!
John Spartan: Well keep dreaming!
Lenina Huxley: [stamping her foot] John Spartan, I wish for you to leave my domicile immediately!
Lenina Huxley: Taco Bell was the only restaurant to survive the Franchise Wars. Now all restaurants are Taco Bell.
Lenina Huxley: Let's go blow this guy.
John Spartan: Away! Let's go blow this guy _away_!
Simon Phoenix: This is the future. Where the phaser guns?
Dr. Raymond Cocteau: Be well, John Spartan.
John Spartan: Be fucked!
John Spartan: Hey Luke Skywalker, use the force.
Simon Phoenix: I'm sorry to say that the world has turned into a pussy-whipped, Brady Bunch version of itself, run by a bunch of robed sissies.
Lenina Huxley: Look's like there's a new shepherd in town.
Lenina Huxley: Chief, why don't you take this job and shovel it!
Lenina Huxley: Looks like you met his meat. You really licked his ass.
Museum Curator: Mellow greetings, sir. What's your boggle?
John Spartan: I guess you weren't part of the Cockteau plan.
Edgar Friendly: Greed, deception, abuse of power; that's no plan.
John Spartan: That's why everybody is down here?
Edgar Friendly: You got that right. You see, according to Cockteau's plan, I'm the enemy because I like to think. I like to read, I'm into freedom of speech and freedom of choice. I'm the kind of guy that could sit in a greasy spoon and wonder gee, should I have the T-bone steak or the jumbo rack of barbecue ribs or the side order of gravy fries. I want high cholesterol. I would eat bacon and butter and buckets of cheese. OK. I want to smoke Cuban cigars the size of Cincinnati in the non-smoking section. I want to run through the streets naked with green Jell-O all over my body reading Playboy magazine. Why, because I might suddenly feel the need to. OK? Pal, I've seen the future. Know what it is? It's a 47-year-old virgin sitting around in his pajamas, sipping a banana-broccoli shake, singing 'I'm the Oscar Meyer wiener'. You live up top, you live how he wants. Your other choice: come down here and maybe starve to death.