Police Sgt. Gladys Harris: [about McCloud] Haven't you ever wondered why he never takes that coat off? It's like my girdle. When that comes off, it's every part for itself.
Peter B. Clifford: [to Haferman] All the money you misappropriate every year would make Jesse James look like an evangelist
Chaney: Oh, get this: a cop's slug hits him in this religious medalion he wears.
Mr. Constantine: Who says God isn't on our side?
Mrs. Johnson: Alright, McCloud, enough. I'm not gonna pry this out of you one cornflake at a time. What happened to Benny?
Doctor: Look, one more thing, if you can't get Johnson to testify against this woman, this, eh, this kook who's going around painting the out of towners blue, I got one suggestion that just might help you.
Sam McCloud: What's that?
Doctor: Get her to switch to a water based paint.
Peter B. Clifford: [on phone] Oh, eh, Gladys, pass the word, top priority. No one is to say anything about anything to that federal guy, Pearson.
Police Sgt. Gladys Harris: [on other line] Nobody said anything to him already.
Peter B. Clifford: Well, that goes double now.
Police Sgt. Gladys Harris: Got ya. Nobody says anything to him again, double.
Police Sgt. Gladys Harris: Who is Haferman and why all the secrecy?
Peter B. Clifford: Nobody is supposed to know.
Police Sgt. Gladys Harris: I'm nobody, ask anybody.
Peter B. Clifford: You're getting scary, Gladys, that almost makes sense.
Jack Haferman: Why don't you leave a couple of men and, eh, guard the place?
Peter B. Clifford: It's snowing out there, Mr. Haferman.
Jack Haferman: It could be bleeding in here.
Jack Haferman: [Hafermans' 'houseguest' has been shot] Oh, officer is she gonna die?
Sergeant Joe Broadhurst: No, must have been perched in there sideways. The slug went right through the padding in her bra, just grazed her.
Jack Haferman: A padded bra? This whole evening been a disaster.
Sam McCloud: [driving on the streets of N.Y. in a blizzard] Well, when temperatures are up, tempers are up. Crimes of passion, assault. But when temperatures' down, it's nice and cold, well, crime rates down. People feel more like pulling back, tucking in.
Sergeant Joe Broadhurst: Not me McCloud. Right now I could throttle somebody for sticking my out here.
Peter B. Clifford: Can I buy you and the commissioner a drink?
Sam McCloud: At 11 o'clock in the morning?
Peter B. Clifford: Well, you been to bed yet?
Sam McCloud: No.
Peter B. Clifford: You?
Peter B. Clifford: Then lets be wicked. Every now and then I like to get it out of my system.
Peter B. Clifford: Give the feather to McCloud. As a matter of fact, I'd say we owe him a whole war bonnet.
Sam McCloud: You know, playing possum is just basic police procedure back home.
Peter B. Clifford: And for once, lady, I'm glad there's a McCloud watching over the city.
Sam McCloud: You know, you're lucky that I'm from outta town, because New York City Police Department doesn't allow their officers to fire a warning shot. Now I'd just as soon leave you here to prove that I didn't violate the law.
Bebe Murchison: In all of nature, the male is the more beautiful of the species. The rainbow plumage of the peacock. The magnificent maned lion. Only in man, is the male a dreary, dull, colorless unimaginative, deceitful, treacherous little worm.
Mr. Constantine: What's gonna happen in this next hour is gonna make St. Valentine's day seem like a church picnic in Central Park.
Bebe Murchison: [seeing Pearson as a potential customer] You ain't into whips or anything?
Fred Pearson: [thinking Bebe is on the police force] Whips? Who uses whips? You've seen whips used here at the New York City Police Department?
[puts his finger to his lips]
Fred Pearson: I thought that went out with the third degree.