Léon: The Professional

Stansfield: Bring me everyone.

3rd Stansfield man: What do you mean "everyone"?

Stansfield: EVERYONE!

Stansfield: Death is... whimsical... today.

Stansfield: I have a lot of respect for your business, Tony. When you've killed for us in the past we've always been satisfied. And that's exactly why today is going to be very, very hard for me. I hope you'll excuse my mood.

[Shows a crime scene photo]

Stansfield: My man was killed, right here, on your turf. And the chinks tell me that the hit man was kind of the... Italian type. So we figured that, uh, Tony might know something.

[Tony motions to speak]

Stansfield: Wait - there's more. You're gonna love this. A few hours later, a little twelve-year-old girl comes to my office armed to the teeth, with the firm intention of sending me straight to the morgue. And do you know who came and got her in the middle of the afternoon right there in my building? The very... same... Italian hit man.

[Beat]

Stansfield: I'm dying to meet him.

Stansfield: I haven't got time for this Mickey Mouse bullshit.

Stansfield: I like these calm little moments before the storm. It reminds me of Beethoven. Can you hear it? It's like when you put your head to the grass and you can hear the growin' and you can hear the insects. Do you like Beethoven?

Malky: I couldn't really say.

Stansfield: I like these quiet little moments before the storm. It reminds me of Beethoven.

Stansfield: I take no pleasure in taking a life if it's from a person who doesn't care about it.

Stansfield: [after the building explodes] Hey, what the fuck is going on up there? I said take the guy out, not the whole fucking building!

Stansfield: [catching Mathilda in the bathroom with food bags] Special delivery huh... Let me guess... Chinese? Thai, maybe? Ahh, I've got it. Italian food

[pops a pill and pulls out a gun]

Stansfield: What's your name angel...

[Mathilda answers]

Stansfield: ... Mathilda, I want you to put the sack on the floor... good... Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about Italian food, and don't forget the name of the chef who fixed it for me.

Mathilda: Nobody sent me.I do business for myself.

Stansfield: Ahh... so this is... something... personal?... What filthy peice of... shit... did I do now?

Mathilda: You killed my brother.

Stansfield: What filthy piece of shit did I do now?