Mr. Woodcock: [after Farley flips Mr. Woodcock in hospital bed] One pothole in this entire town Farley... and you've managed to find it.
Mr. Woodcock: S-s-s-set of ten!
Pizza Waiter: Woodcock's plowing your mom?
Mr. Woodcock: It's too late. She's made her mind up, Farley.
John Farley: What? My mom's the best thing that's ever happened to you.
Mr. Woodcock: One day you'll date girls and you'll understand. Once a woman makes her mind up... there's no changing it.
John Farley: Oh, I get it. You're scared. Your last marriage fell apart because she was cheating on you. Again, and again, and again.
Mr. Woodcock: The woman's a deviant, Farley. Who cares?
John Farley: So you're scared of getting hurt again?
Mr. Woodcock: Hey, spare me the self-help crap, OK? You're not a guru. You're a spoiled little kid who can't seem to let go of his momma's right tit.
John Farley: Oh, yeah? Well, you're just a pussy with a whistle!
Mr. Woodcock: Really? You cocky little shit. Do you actually think you're tougher than me?
John Farley: Ooh. Any time, any place.
Mr. Woodcock: Get the rentals, Farley.
John Farley: [mimmicking, mockingly] "I'm known for my meat. I'm known for my meat." Actually, you're not known for your meat, Woodcock. You're known for emotionally crippling an entire generation of children. Dickhead!
Maggie Hoffman: [to the flight attendant] Could I get a real bottle, please? I'm an alcoholic, not a Barbie doll.
Nedderman: What's next, the Hitler Calzone?
John Farley: When you make a blame sandwich, you gotta be ready to eat it yourself.
Mr. Woodcock: Rhetorical question!