Neal Page: He says we’re going the wrong way…
Del Griffith: Oh, he’s drunk. How would he know where we’re going?
Police Officer: What the hell are you driving here?
Del Griffith: We had a small fire last night, but we caught it in a nick of time.
Police Officer: Do you have any idea how fast you were going?
Del Griffith: Funny enough, I was just talking to my friend about that. Our speedometer has melted and as a result it’s very hard to see with any degree of accuracy exactly how fast we were going.
Owen: Her first born come out sideways, she didn’t scream or nothin.
Officer: Do you feel this vehicle is safe for the highways?
Del: Yes. Yes sir I do.
Neal: Del, why did you kiss my ear?
Del: Why are you holding my hand?
Neal: Where is your other hand?
Del: Between two pillows.
Neal: Those aren’t pillows!
Del: Was that seat hot or what? I feel like a Whopper. Turn me over, I’m done and ready. I’m afraid to look at my ass. There’ll be grill marks.
Neal: What do you suppose the temperature is?
Neal: You’re like one of those Chatty Cathy dolls except I’m not pulling the string, you are. Blah! Blah! Blah!
Del Griffith: We’d have more luck playing pick-up sticks with our butt-cheeks than we will getting a flight out of here before daybreak.