Vincent: Get her the shot! Lance: I will if you let me. Vincent: I ain't fuckin' stopping you! Lance: Well, then quit talking to me, talk to her. Vincent: Get the shot!
Shouts of dismay rose as the red flesh splattered against the table. It was only a tomato, but one would think I was pulping a decaying heart by the noise the big, strong FIB officers were making.
Nature seems to welcome defiance of conventions, and to say, with a smile, 'So, the truant has come back again!' ("Absolute Evil")
You stumble upon an unhappy Martian sentry on a mission and shoot ineffectually at his powersuit a few times before he pulps you with his laserbeam eyes and hideous poisonous-gas breath. Glory!
Men can beat each other to a pulp and still walk away friends. With a woman, once an enemy, always an enemy. Women will sit like a spider, for years, waiting for the chance to strike. They never forget and seldom forgive.
The many magazines, ranging from pulp to slick, that used to serve as both farm teams for writers and lures to readers, with hundreds of short stories every month, don't exist. Most of the doors for new people have been sealed.
[Butch comes up beside Vincent at the bar] Butch: You lookin at something, friend? Vincent: You ain't my friend, Palooka. Butch: What's that? Vincent: I think you heard me just fine, Punchy.
Mia: Don't you just love it when you come back from the bathroom and find your food waiting for you? Vincent: We're lucky we got anything at all. I don't think Buddy Holly's much of a waiter.
Marsellus: You see, this profession is filled to the brim with unrealistic motherfuckers. Motherfuckers who thought their ass would age like wine. If you mean it turns to vinegar, it does. If you mean it gets better with age, it don't.
The Wolf: Maybe I can give you guys a ride. Where do you live? Vincent: Redondo Beach. Jules: Inglewood. The Wolf: In your future... I see a cab ride. Move out of the sticks, gentlemen.
I remember thinking how easy it is to speak in clichés, to steal a line from pulp fiction and let it fall. We can only hover around the inexpressible with our words anyway, and there is comfort in saying what we have heard before.
Children, brought up naturally and in freedom, not only have imagination, but live in a world of imagination more real to them than our reality. ("Absolute Evil")
You know what pulp is, Mr. Tallis? It's the flesh of a luscious fruit, mashed down into an incredible, half liquid richness. so saturated with flavor that it fills your whole body, not just your mouth.
Her voice sounded much cooler than she felt. Inside, her internal organs were grinding themselves into nervous pulp. Her intestines were gone. Her kidneys were disintegrating. Her stomach was wringing itself out, yanking on her trachea.
Hawkwind are one of those bands that people introduce you to because you don't see them on the covers of magazines. I'd heard 'Silver Machine' but Russell Senior, who was in Pulp, got me into them. They had a song called 'Master Of The Universe' and ...
I decided to write Westerns because there was a terrific market for Westerns in the '50s. There were a lot of pulp magazines, like 'Dime Western' and '10 Story Western' that were still being published. The better ones paid two cents a word. And I tho...
Believe it or not the war on Iraq is based on a sound scientific principle, The bee hive principle. Which clearly states that if you are stung by a bee, you should follow it back to its nest and then proceed to beat nest to a pulp with a baseball bat...
Lance: Hey, whattya think about Trudi? She ain't got a boyfriend. You wanna hang out, get high? Vincent: Which one's Trudi? The one with all the shit in her face? Lance: No, that's Jody. That's my wife.
Mia: I do believe Marsellus Wallace, my husband, your boss, told you to take ME out and do WHATEVER I WANTED. Now I wanna dance, I wanna win. I want that trophy, so dance good.
The Wolf: You're... Jimmie, right? This is your house? Jimmie: Sure is. The Wolf: I'm Winston Wolfe. I solve problems. Jimmie: Good, we got one. The Wolf: So I heard. May I come in? Jimmie: Uh, yeah, please do.
Lance: You are not bringing this fucked-up bitch into my house! Vincent: This fucked-up bitch is Marsellus Wallace's wife! Do you know who Marsellus Wallace is? Do you? If she croaks on me, I'm a fuckin' greasespot!
