Edgar: I go out, I work my butt off to make a living, all I want is to come home to a nice clean house with a nice fat steak on the table, but instead I get this. It looks like poison. Don't you take that away, I'm eating that, damn it! It is poison, isn't it? I swear to God I would not be surprised if it was, the way you skulk around here like a dog that's been hit too much or ain't been hit enough, I can't make up my mind. You're useless, Beatrice! The only thing that pulls its weight around here is my goddamn truck!
[Flying saucer smashes truck]

Kay: I want you off this rock on the next transport or I'm gonna shoot you where it don't grow back.

Zed: We're not hosting an intergalactic kegger down here.

Dr. Weaver: What's with the cat?
Cop in Morgue: Well, there's a problem with the cat. Sign here.
Dr. Weaver: [signing] What's the problem with the cat?
Cop in Morgue: It's your problem.

Kay: All right, Beatrice, there was no alien. The flash of light you saw in the sky was not a UFO. Swamp gas from a weather balloon was trapped in a thermal pocket and reflected the light from Venus.
Jay: Wait a minute. You just flash that thing, it erases her memory, and you just make up a new one?
Kay: A standard issue neuralyzer.
Jay: And that weak-ass story's the best you can come up with?

[To candidates rejected as MIB agents]
Zed: Gentlemen, congratulations. You're everything we've come to expect from years of government training.

Zed: You'll dress only in attire specially sanctioned by MiB special services. You'll conform to the identity we give you, eat where we tell you, live where we tell you. From now on you'll have no identifying marks of any kind. You'll not stand out in any way. Your entire image is crafted to leave no lasting memory with anyone you encounter. You're a rumor, recognizable only as deja vu and dismissed just as quickly. You don't exist; you were never even born. Anonymity is your name. Silence your native tongue. You're no longer part of the System. You're above the System. Over it. Beyond it. We're "them." We're "they." We are the Men in Black.

Bug: Put your projectile weapon on the ground.
Edgar: You can have my gun when you pry it from my cold dead hands.
Bug: Your proposition is acceptable.

Bug: Ever pull the wing off a fly? Care to see the fly get even?

Jay: Why don't ya go down to Bloomingdales and get some make-up, clothes, manicure, and a facial. Oh and you better hire a decorator to come in here, 'cause, damn.

Jay: Why the big secret? People are smart, they can handle it.
Kay: A *person* is smart. People are dumb, panicky, dangerous animals and you know it.

Jay: Zed, don't you guys ever get any sleep around here?
Zed: The twins keep us on Centaurian time, standard thirty-seven hour day. Give it a few months. You'll get used to it ...or you'll have a psychotic episode.

Kay: Set for pulsar level five, subsonic implosion factor two.
Jay: What?
Kay: Just shoot the damn thing!

Kay: There are approximately 1500 aliens in Manhattan.
Jay: Cab drivers?
Kay: Not as many as you think.

Kay: Arquillian battle rules: first we get an ultimatum, then a warning shot, then a galactic standard week to respond.
Jay: A galactic standard week? How long is that?
Kay: One hour.

Edwards: Freeze means stop!

Jay: There's only one way off this planet and that's through me!

Jay: Did you ever flashy-thing me?
Kay: No.
Jay: I ain't playing, K. Did you ever flashy-thing me?
Kay: No.

Dr. Weaver: I hate the living.

Jay: We should contact Dennis Rodman, he's from that planet.
Elle: Rodman? You're kidding! ...Not a very good disguise.

Jay: You know the difference between you and me? I make this look good.

Kay: Raise your hands -- and all of your flippers.

Kay: These are our two Centaurian communictions board operators, Woiebgck and Bob.

Beatrice: You here to make fun of me too?
Kay: No, ma'am. We at the FBI do not have a sense of humor we're aware of. May we come in?
Beatrice: Sure.

Kay: 1500 years ago, everybody "knew" that the earth was the center of the universe. 500 years ago, everybody "knew" that the earth was flat. And 15 minutes ago, you "knew" that humans were alone on this planet. Imagine what you'll "know" tomorrow.

[J has just jumped from a bridge onto a tour bus]
Jay: It just be raining black people in New York!

Jay: This has GOT to be a nine-point-oh on my weird-shit-o-meter.

James Edwards: NYPD means I will Nock Yo Punkass Down!

[Bug takes Dr.Weaver with him into the flying saucer]
Edgar: You're coming with me. It's a long trip. I'll need a snack.

Jay: You do know Elvis is dead, right?
Kay: No, Elvis is not dead. He just went home.

Kay: You sold a reverberating carbonizer with mutate capacity to an unlicensed cephalopoid, Jeebs, you piece of shit!
Jeebs: He looked all right to me.

Kay: I've just been down the gut of an interstellar cockroach. That's one of a million memories I don't want.

Kay: Imagine a giant cockroach, with unlimited strength, a massive inferiority complex, and a real short temper, is tear-assing around Manhattan in a brand-new Edgar suit. That sound like fun to you?

Jay: Unlimited technology from the whole universe, and we cruise 'round in a Ford P.O.S.

Kay: See ya around, Jay.
Jay: No, you won't.

Kay: Did he say anything to you?
James Edwards: Yeah, that the world is coming to an end.
Kay: Did he say when?

Jay: (stepping on an insect) Oh, was that your auntie? Then that must be your uncle over there.

[In a shooting range, confronted with numerous menacing-looking targets, Edwards shoots a cardboard little girl.]
Zed: May I ask why you felt little Tiffany deserved to die?
James Edwards: Well, she was the only one that actually seemed dangerous at the time, sir.
Zed: How'd you come to that conclusion?
James Edwards: Well, first I was gonna pop this guy hanging from the street light, and I realized, y'know, he's just working out. I mean, how would I feel if somebody come runnin' in the gym and bust me in my ass while I'm on the treadmill? Then I saw this snarling beast guy, and I noticed he had a tissue in his hand, and I'm realizing, y'know, he's not snarling, he's sneezing! Y'know, ain't no real threat there. Then I saw little Tiffany. I'm thinking, y'know, eight-year-old white girl, middle of the ghetto, bunch of monsters, this time of night with quantum physics books? She about to start some shit, Zed. She's about eight years old, those books are WAY too advanced for her. If you ask me, I'd say she's up to something. And to be honest, I'd appreciate it if you eased up off my back about it. Or do I owe her an apology?