Mac: She was right. You are a loser.
Inspector Arnaud: Ça ne fait rien. Well, let us go. Your car. Mine costs twelve cents a mile.
Mac: (To Sgt. Enright.) The French.
Mac: I may feel the same way you do, but I'm trying to run a police department, not a private club for revenge.
Mac: (To Mildred.) One does not slice the English muffin, one separates it, thusly.
Jake Morrison: I've been out of the big time for seven, eight years now. If Ray Poole wants to slug it out with the cops, let him make the papers. I'm flying straight now. I don't know nothing.
Sinclair: Two exalted cops on top of the heap, and between you you don't make as much as a tongue-tied insurance agent.
Mac: I think you underestimate the graft.
Mac: Mildred, increase my store of knowledge. Why are you vacuuming at night?
Mildred: I always do my work when the spirit moves me. All creative people are like that.
Mac: If I go to the airport, Poole may try to kill me, but if I don't go my wife definitely will.
(Trying on clothes.)
Sally: Too much?
Mildred: Is that a question or a statement of fact?
Sally: Too much.