Robin: Nobility is not a birth-right, it is defined by one’s actions.
Sheriff of Notingham: Keep the stitches small.
Sheriff: Join us.
Sheriff: Join us, or die.
Locksley: Long live King Richard!
Azeem: No man controls my destiny. Especially not one who attacks downwind and reeks of garlic.
Robin: Look, mistletoe! Many a maid’s lost her resolve to me thanks to this little plant.
Azeem: In my country, we talk to our women. We do not drug them with plants.
Maid Marian: Men speak conveniently of love when it serves their purpose, and when it doesn’t, it is a burden to them.
Friar Tuck: Let us open a bottle and do our best to save each other’s souls.
Azeem: Alas, I am not permitted.
Friar Tuck: Fine then, you talk, I’ll drink.
Azeem: I once heard a wise man say there are no perfect men. Only perfect intentions.
Azeem: The hospitality in this country is as warm as the weather.
Sheriff of Nottingham: Wait a minute. Robin Hood steals money from my pocket, forcing me to hurt the public, and they love him for it? That’s it then. Cancel the kitchen scraps for lepers and orphans, no more merciful beheadings, and call off Christmas!
Sheriff of Nottingham: You! My room. 10:30 tonight. You! 10:45… And bring a friend.
Robin: Any suggestions?
Azeem: Get up. Move faster.
Robin: Move faster. Great idea.
Robin: And you! You travel five thousand miles to save my life and leave me to be butchered!
Azeem: I fulfill my vows when I choose to.
Robin: Which does not include prayer time, meal time, or any time I’m outnumbered six to one!
Azeem: You whine like a mule. You are still alive.
Friar Tuck: This is grain, which any fool can eat, but for which the Lord intended a more divine means of consumption. Let us give praise to our maker and glory to his bounty by learning about… beer!
Friar Tuck: And here’s thirty pieces of silver to pay the Devil on your way to Hell!