Sam Lowry: Give my best to Alison and the twins.
Jack Lint: Triplets.
Sam Lowry: Triplets? My how time flies
Sam Lowry: Excuse me, Dawson, can you put me through to Mr. Helpmann's office?
Dawson: I'm afraid I can't sir. You have to go through the proper channels.
Sam Lowry: And you can't tell me what the proper channels are, because that's classified information?
Dawson: I'm glad to see the Ministry's continuing its tradition of recruiting the brightest and best, sir.
Sam Lowry: Thank you, Dawson.
Sam Lowry: I only know you got the wrong man.
Jack Lint: Information Transit got the wrong man. I got the *right* man. The wrong one was delivered to me as the right man, I accepted him on good faith as the right man. Was I wrong?
Arresting Officer: This is your receipt for your husband... and this is my receipt for your receipt.
Mr. Helpmann: He's got away from us, Jack.
Jack Lint: 'Fraid you're right, Mr. Helpmann. He's gone.
Harry Tuttle: Bloody paperwork. Huh!
Sam Lowry: I suppose one has to expect a certain amount.
Harry Tuttle: Why? I came into this game for the action, the excitement. Go anywhere, travel light, get in, get out, wherever there's trouble, a man alone. Now they got the whole country sectioned off, you can't make a move without a form.
Mr. Warrenn: What is this mess? An empty desk is an efficient desk.
Sam Lowry: My name's Lowry. Sam Lowry. I've been told to report to Mr. Warrenn.
Porter - Information Retrieval: Thirtieth floor, sir. You're expected.
Sam Lowry: Um... don't you want to search me?
Porter - Information Retrieval: No sir.
Sam Lowry: Do you want to see my ID?
Porter - Information Retrieval: No need, sir.
Sam Lowry: But I could be anybody.
Porter - Information Retrieval: No you couldn't sir. This is Information Retrieval.
Mr. Helpmann: Bad sportsmanship. A ruthless minority of people seem to have forgotten good old-fashioned virtues. They just can't stand seeing the other fellow win. If these people would just play the game...
Santa Claus: What would you like for Christmas?
Little girl on his lap: My own credit card.
Sam Lowry: Can you fix it?
Harry Tuttle: No, I can't. But I can bypass it with one of these.
[Holds up a bizarre device]
Kurtzmann: [on Buttle] You see? The population census has got him down as "dormanted." Uh, the Central Collective Storehouse computer has got him down as "deleted."
Sam Lowry: Hang on.
[goes to a computer terminal]
Kurtzmann: Information Retrieval has got him down as "inoperative." And there's another one - security has got him down as "excised." Administration has got him down as "completed."
Sam Lowry: He's dead.
Guard: Don't fight it son. Confess quickly! If you hold out too long you could jeopardize your credit rating.
Charlie, Department of Works: Bloody typical, they've gone back to metric without telling us.
Jack Lint: It's not my fault that Buttle's heart condition didn't appear on Tuttle's file!
T.V. Interviewer: How do you account for the fact that the bombing campaign has been going on for thirteen years?
Mr. Helpmann: Beginners' luck.
Telegram Girl: [dancing wildly, while singing in an absurdly high soprano] A-a-a-a-a-a-A-a-a-a-a-a-a-A-a-a-a-a-a-a-A-A! Mrs Ida Lowry requests the pleasure of your COMPANYYYY! At her APARTMENT TONIIIIGHTT! For eight thirtee-EE-ee-ee-ee-ee-ee-EE, to MIDNIGHTTT! To celebrate the completion of her recent cosmetic SURGERYYY! E-e-e-e-e-e-E-e-e-e-e-e-E! wwwWWAAAAAAIIIIIIIII!
[very long pause, Sam glances around nervously]
Sam Lowry: ummm... Thanks.
Telegram Girl: It's reply paid.
Sam Lowry: Is it?
[telegram girl nods]
Sam Lowry: oh... um... two, three,
Sam Lowry: Mother, I sorry that I am unable to come to your parrrttty...
Telegram Girl: You DON'T have to sing it!
Sam Lowry: I don't?
Mr. Warrenn: There you are, your own number on your very own door. And behind that door, your very own office! Welcome to the team, DZ-015
Bill - Dept. of Works: Mistakes? We don't make mistakes.
Harry Tuttle: ...well, that's a pipe of a different color.
Sam Lowry: Yes... No... I don't know. I don't know what I want.
Dr. Lewis Jaffe: Just me and my little knife! Snip snip - slice slice... can you believe it?
Spoor: All you've got to do is blow your nose and it's fixed, in't it?
Mrs. Terrain: There's been a little complication with my complication
Jack Lint: [about his wife's cosmetic surgery] Remember how they used to stick out?
Sam Lowry: Oh, um yes. I always used to wonder if they were real.
Alison: My ears?
[Lime blows the dust from the keyboard, then presses a key. waits for something to happen]
Lime: [worried and somewhat frustrated] Sod it, it's broken!
Sam Lowry: You haven't switched it on.
[presses a key, the computer starts]
Lime: Oh, yes.
[looks at Sam, waiting for him to say something]
Lime: [convincingly] Look, you're putting me off, standing there. Why don't you go back to your office and I'll give you a knock when I finish?
Mr. Helpmann: He's got away from us, Jack.
Jack Lint: Afraid you're right, Mr. Helpmann. He's gone.
Mr. Helpmann: Mmm.
Jack Lint: Well...
Mrs. Ida Lowry: Sam! Can't you do something about these terrorists?
Sam Lowry: It's my lunch hour. Besides, it's not my department.
Kurtzmann: Dead? That's awful. We'll never get rid of the bloody thing now!
Harry Tuttle: Listen, this old system of yours could be on fire and I couldn't even turn on the kitchen tap without filling out a 27b/6... Bloody paperwork.
Jack Lint: Until this whole thing blows over, just stay away from me.
Sam Lowry: Mr. Helpmann, I'm keen to get into Information Retrieval. Mr. Helpmann, I'm dying to get at this woman... no, no, no.
Sam Lowry: Yes, I always used to wonder if she wore falsies. False ears...
Sam Lowry: I assure you, Mrs. Buttle, the Ministry is very scrupulous about following up and eradicating any error. If you have any complaints which you'd like to make, I'd be more than happy to send you the appropriate forms.
Mr. Helpmann: We're fielding all their strokes, running a lot of them out, and pretty consistently knocking them for six. I'd say they're nearly out of the game.
Mr. Helpmann: Jill? Yes... Sam I think I ought to tell you. I'm afraid she's upped stumps and retired to the pavillion. Thrown in the towel.
Mr. Helpmann: All I can say is don't fall at the last fence. The finishing post's in sight. See you in the paddock... keep your eye on the ball.
Dr. Lewis Jaffe: Faces are a doddle compared to tits and ass. No hairline.
Jack Lint: This is information retrieval not information dispersal.
Singers: [TV commercial jingle] Central Services: We do the work, you do the pleasure.
TV commercial pitchman: Hi, there. I want to talk to you about ducts.
[Sam is arguing with his mother while Jaffe tries to perform cosmetic surgery on her]
Dr. Lewis Jaffe: Mr. Lowry, can you wait in reception? You're giving her wrinkles.
Sign: Suspicion builds Confidence.
Poster: Happiness: we're all in it together.