(John has just returned from shooting Lucky at the bar) Jane Smith: Hey baby. I didn't hear you downstairs. John Smith: I went down to the sports bar. Put a little money on the game. Jane Smith: How'd you do? John Smith: I got Lucky.
John Smith: I never went to MIT. Notre Dame. Art history major. Jane Smith: Art? John Smith: History! It's reputable.
Jasmine: What? Your husband is the shooter? That's impossible. Jane Smith: Really?
Eddie: Are you saying you had your ass handed to you by some girl? John Smith: I think so.
Girls walking by House: What's going on, Mrs. Smith? Jane Smith: Garden party, girls.
John Smith: You looked like Christmas morning.
Jane Smith: You were bait.
Benjamin: In a manner of speaking.
Jane Smith: *Were* bait or *are* bait?
John Smith: (hotwiring a neighbor's minivan) He's had my barbecue set for months.
Eddie: Tell me you got smart and that you killed that lying bitch.
Jane Smith: This lying bitch?
Eddie: Guess that was just wishful thinking.
Eddie: I live with my mom because I choose to. She's the only woman I've ever trusted.
Lucky: What? You're looking for a job or something?
John Smith: You are the job.
(John kills everybody in the room)
John Smith: (looking at the cards at the table) Pair of threes.
John Smith: (after Jane escapes on a high wire) Chicken shit!
Jane Smith: Pussy!
Jane Smith: I told you to wait for my signal, you didn't wait for my signal.
John Smith: Well, I improvised.
Jane Smith: You deviated from the plan.
John Smith: The plan was flawed.
Jane Smith: The plan was not flawed.
John Smith: Anal.
Jane Smith: *Organized.*
John Smith: Jane, 90% of this job is instinct.
Jane Smith: Well, your instinct set off *every* alarm in the building!
John Smith: My instinct got the job done. It may not have been the Jane show...
Jane Smith: No, it was the John show: it was half-assed. Like Christmas, like our anniversary, like the time you forgot to bring my mother's birthday present.
John Smith: Your *fake* mother's birthday present.
Jane Smith: The point is, you are *always* the first to break team.
John Smith: You don't want a team, you want a servant for hire.
Jane Smith: I want someone I can count on.
John Smith: (sigh) Jane, there's no *air* around you anymore.
Jane Smith: (irritated) Oh. OK, what is that supposed to mean?
John Smith: That means there's no room for mistakes, no mistakes whatsoever. No spontaneity. Who can answer to that?
Jane Smith: Well, you don't have to. Because this isn't even a real marriage.
Benjamin: (locked up in the back of the van, in a bewildered voice) *Who are you people?*
Jane Smith: (yelling) Shut up!
Jane Smith: I was never in the peace corps.
Jane Smith: Any last words?
John Smith: The new curtains are hideous.