Remington Steele (1982–1987)
Remington Steele: Irresponsibility isn't a sickness - it's an art.
Laura Holt: [to Steele] I'm a Peppler, he's a Peppler, she's a Peppler, we're a Peppler, they're a Peppler, wouldn't you like to be a Peppler too?
Laura Holt: [Steele gives her a look] Come on! Where's your sense of humor?
Remington Steele: [referring to his colorful golf pants] I'm wearing it.
Remington Steele: A killer caught by a lousy television show and a rotten commercial. There's some thing poetic about that.
Remington Steele: Atomic man is wanted for murder.
Remington Steele: Really, I didn't realize the penalty for bad acting was that stiff in this country.
Remington Steele: Zif climp blagh blagh blaghgh
[looks at Laura]
Remington Steele: It's for you.
[Izzy is dying]
Izzy Webster: Toodle-loo.
Laura Holt: Toodle-loo?
Steele: That's what I call shuffling off with class.
Laura Holt: What are you doing?
Remington Steele: I'll tell you what I'm *not* doing! I'm not driving in circles trying to elude people I don't know, who want to kill a nice little nebbish, for reasons I don't even understand. I'm also not about to sit in that car while Sheldon looks at me like I'm Babe Ruth and George Washington all rolled into...
Remington Steele: ... yes, information? I'd like the number of the Central Intelligence Agency... No, that is not a residence.
Laura Holt: Now all we need is the third man.
Remington Steele: Well, if it isn't Orson Welles, I can't be of any immediate help.
Kessler: Who are you?
Remington Steele: Just a happy go lucky tourist out to see a bit of the world.
Neff: Is that why you've got five passports, from five different countries, in five different names?
Remington Steele: Kept trying for a good picture.
[narration from the opening credits]
Laura Holt: Try this for a deep, dark secret: the great detective, Remington Steele? He doesn't exist. I invented him. Follow. I always loved excitement, so I studied, and apprenticed, and put my name on an office. But absolutely nobody knocked down my door. A female private investigator seemed so... feminine. So I invented a superior. A decidedly MASCULINE superior. Suddenly there were cases around the block. It was working like a charm... until the day HE walked in, with his blue eyes and mysterious past. And before I knew it, he assumed Remington Steele's identity. Now I do the work, and he takes the bows. It's a dangerous way to live, but as long as people buy it, I can get the job done. We never mix business with pleasure. Well, almost never. I don't even know his real name!