Narrator: January, 1933. Depression was the keyword. Money was just a memory. Apples were a nickel. Add another nickel and you could dance away your hunger.
Marty: (about Ellie) She was a nice girl.
Gunther: Let's not get carried away. She danced for dimes.
Marty: (to Cully) I pay you to run this place. You have your headache on your own time.
Marty: You better talk to your tailor.
Bogan: About what?
Marty: About a bulletproof suit.
Marty: (to Cully) You do the worrying. I'll do the shooting.
Bogan: What are you drinkin'?
Marty: Bitter gall, mostly.
Marty: NIce to see the authorities workin' again. Makes a citizen feel safe.
Fran: You're awful cute, Herbie, but you're not exactly a fireball.
Szabo: You're a good talker, Marty. Maybe too good.
Herbie: (to Marty) You've no right to make dirt out of girls.
Szabo: On the phone you say proof, Marty. All I see is a body.
Gunther: (about Herbie) Sick kid.
Ness: Sick enough. We'd better talk to him.
Marty: Do you want anything?
Herbie: Just to get better.
Herbie: That's one of your troubles, Marty. You never listen. Then I guess you never had time to learn how.
Marty: Jake, please let me talk.
Szabo: That's where I made my mistake.