Mort: Shit, shit, shit, shit. Stupid, stupid, stupid...
Ken Karsch: [about Ted] Did you do anything to piss him off?
Mort: [has a flashback to him screaming at Ted] I might've.
Mort: I don't wanna call her. I want to go to sleep. I want to take a nap. Okay. No nap. I give her a call about the magazine. I go write some crap for a couple of hours and then I get to take a nap, right? Chico
[beating his neck]
Mort: Chi-i-i-i-co-o-o-o, don't be disco-o-o-oura-a-a-aged. All right, go ahead and be discouraged, you blind bastard, see if I care.
Mort: You know, the only thing that matters is the ending. It's the most important part of the story, the ending. And this one... is very good. This one's perfect.
Mort: I don't respond well to intimidation. Makes me feel *icky*.
Mort: This is not my beautiful house. This is not my beautiful wife. Anymore.
Ken Karsch: What happened? You finally bang one of your groupies? Omaha Barnes & Noble? I'm sorry. Rotten profession.
Mort: [on the street after the house insurance meeting] You're a dick!
Ted: Do you feel better now?
Mort: Yes, I do.
John Shooter: Thought you didn't smoke.
Mort: I took it up recently, for my health.
Ken Karsch: No monsters up here.
Mort: [holding a rowing oar] Did you check under my bed?
Ken Karsch: Yeah, even in your toy chest.
Mort: [Mort and his conscience arguing and pushing each other]
Mort's Conscience: [screaming at Mort making him unable to speak]
Mort: Rah. Rah. Rah. Rah.
John Shooter: You strike me as the kind of guy who's on the lookout for a head he can knock off with a shovel.
Mort: I'd be lying if I said I wasn't on the verge of doing snoopy dances.
Mort: I know you're in there shit-head. If you don't come out on the count of five, I'm coming in there swinging. One, two...
[rushes the door]
Ted: You and I are going to have a little talk.
Mort: Oh, I'm in trouble.
John Shooter: [Mort tries to whack Shooter with a shovel, but Shooter grabs the shovel and uses it to shove Mort against the wall] Do you wanna wake up from one o' your stupid naps 'n find Amy nailed to yer garbage bin? Or turn on the radio one mornin' and find out that she came off secon' best in a match with the chainsaw you keep out 'n the shed? Do ya?
John Shooter: [addressing Mort, who just woke up from being unconscious and trying to limp away with an asleep leg] I would've moved ya, but I didn't wanna wake ya.
John Shooter: Got tired of waitin'.
John Shooter: Almost pinned a note on ya, decided not to.
John Shooter: You scare too easy.
John Shooter: [Mort finds Shooter at the end of the path] You read it?
Mort: I did.
John Shooter: I imagine it rang a bell, didn't it?
Mort: Oh, it certainly did. When'd you write it?
John Shooter: I thought you'd ask that.
Mort: Well, sure. I mean, that's the whole point, isn't it? When two writers show up with the same story, it's all about who wrote the words first. Wouldn't you say that's true?
John Shooter: I suppose I would. I suppose that's also why I came all the way up here from Miss'ippi.
Mort: I don't care. I'm just gonna smoke. I'm just gonna totally smoke. I'll finish these, go to the store and get a brand new pack, smoke the shit out of that one.
Mrs. Garvey: You're a good man, Mr. Rainey.
Mort: You too, Mrs. Garvey.