QUOTES from Monty Python

Main Page

Monty Python and the Flying Circus

Announcer: And now for something completely different.

Norman: Is your wife a..."goer"... eh? Know what I mean? Know what I mean? Nudge nudge. Nudge nudge! Know what I mean? Say no more...Know what I mean?
Man: I beg your pardon?
Norman: Your wife... does she, er, does she "go"—eh? Eh? Eh? Know what I mean? Known what I mean? Say no more!
Man: She sometimes goes, yes.
Norman: I bet she does! I bet she does! I bet she does! Know what I mean?
Man: I'm sorry, I don't quite follow you.
Norman: Follow me! Follow me! I like that. That's good. A nod's as good as a wink to a blind bat, eh?

Commentator: This morning, shortly after eleven o'clock, comedy struck this little house in Dibley. Sudden. Violent. Comedy.

Rustic Shepherd: It's my belief that these sheep are laborin' under the misapprehension that they're birds. Observe their be'avior. Take for a start the sheeps' tendency to 'op about the field on their 'ind legs. Now witness their attempts to fly from tree to tree. Notice that they do not so much fly as... plummet.

Compère: Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the refreshment room here at Bletchley. My name is Kenny Lust and I'm your compère for tonight. You know, once in a while it is my pleasure, and my privilege, to welcome here at the refreshment room, some of the truly great international artists of our time. And tonight we have one such artist. Ladies and gentlemen, someone whom I've always personally admired, perhaps more deeply, more strongly, more abjectly than ever before. A man, well, more than a man, a god, a great god, whose personality is so totally and utterly wonderful my feeble words of welcome sound wretchedly and pathetically inadequate. Someone whose boots I would gladly lick clean until holes wore through my tongue, a man who is so totally and utterly wonderful, that I would rather be sealed in a pit of my own filth, than dare tread on the same stage with him. Ladies and gentlemen, the incomparably superior human being, Harry Fink.
Voice Offstage: He can't come!
Kenny Lust: Never mind, it's not all it's cracked up to be.

RSM: Look, I'm only doing my job. I have to show you how to defend yourself against fresh fruit.
Fourth Man: And pointed sticks.
RSM: Shut up!

Man: Er, excuse me, I want to get married.
Registrar: I'm afraid I'm already married.
Man: Er, no, no. I just want to get married.
Registrar: I could get a divorce, I suppose, but that would be a bit of a wrench.
Man: Er, no, no. That wouldn't be necessary because—
Registrar: You see, would you come to my place or should I have to come to yours, because I've got a big mortgage.
Man: No, no. I want to get married here.
Registrar: Oh, dear. I had my heart set on a church wedding.

Interviewer: Hello. Tonight we are going to take a hard, rough, abrasive look at camel spotting. to spotter: Hello.
Spotter: Hello, Peter.
Interviewer: Now tell me what exactly are you doing?
Spotter: Ah, well, I'm camel spotting. I'm spotting to see if there are any camels that I can spot and put them down in my camel spotting book.
Interviewer: Good. And how many camels have you spotted so far?
Spotter: Oh well so far, Peter, up to the present moment, I've spotted nearly, ooh, nearly one.
Interviewer: Nearly one?
Spotter: Er, call it none.

Art Critic: Good evening. I'd like to talk to you tonight about the place of the nude in my bed... um... in the history of my bed... of art, of art, I'm sorry. The place of the nude in the history of tart... call girl... I'm sorry. I'll start again... bum... oh what a giveaway.

Mr. Praline: It's not pinin'! It's passed on! This parrot is no more! It has ceased to be! It's expired and gone to meet 'is maker! It's a stiff! Bereft of life, Itrests in peace! If you hadn't nailed it to the perch it'd be pushing up the daisies! It's metabolic processes are now history! It's off the twig! It's kicked the bucket, it's shuffled off it's mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleedin' choir invisible! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!

Customer: I've come about your advert—"Small white pussy cat for sale. Excellent condition."
Shopkeeper: Ah. You wish to buy it?
Customer: That's right. Just for the hour.

BBC Voiceover: The BBC would like to apologize for the next announcement.

Pepperpot Lady: Well, I object to all this sex on the television! I mean, I keep falling off!

Vicar: It's about this letter you sent me regarding my insurance claim.
Devious: Oh, yeah, yeah—well, you see, it's just that we're not... as yet... totally satisfied with the grounds of your claim.
Vicar: But it says something about filling my mouth with cement.
Devious: Oh well, that's just insurance jargon.

I didn't expect a kind of Spanish Inquisition.
NO ONE expects the Spanish Inquisition!

Mousebender: ...So I thought to myself, "a little fermented curd will do the trick". So I curtailed my Walpolling activities, sallied forth and infiltrated your place of purveyance to negotiate the vending of some cheesy comestibles. (smacks his lips)
Henry Wenslydale: Come again.
Mousebender (broad Northern accent): I want to buy some cheese.
Henry Wenslydale: Oh, I thought you were complaining about the music.
Mousebender: Heaven forbid. I am one who delights in all manifestations of the harpsichordean muse.
Wenslydale: Sorry?
Mousebender: I like a nice dance—you've forced me to...

later:
Wensleydale: Ah! We do have some Camembert, sir.
Mousebender: You do. Excellent.
Wenslydale: It's a bit runny, sir.
Mousebender: Oh, I like it runny.
Wenslydale: Well as a matter of fact it's very runny, sir.
Mousebender: No matter. No matter. Hand over le fromage de la Belle France qui s'appelleCamembert, s'il vous plait.
Wenslydale: I think it's runnier than you like it, sir.
Mousebender: I don't care how excrementally runny it is. Hand it over with speed.
Wenslydale: Yes sir. (bends below the counter and reappears) Oh...
Mousebender: What?
Wenslydale: The cat's eaten it.
Mousebender: Has he?
Wenslydale: She, sir.

Interviewer: Good evening. Well, we have in the studio tonight a man who says things in a very roundabout way. Isn't that so, Mr Pudifoot?
Mr. Pudifoot: Yes.
Interviewer: Have you always said things in a very roundabout way?
Mr Pudifoot: Yes.
Interviewer: Well, I can't help noticing that, for someone who claims to say things in a very roundabout way, your last two answers have had very little of the discursive quality about them.

Announcer: And now a precision display of bad temper.
Soldiers: My goodness me! I am in a bad temper today, two three! Damn damn, two three! I am vexed and ratty, two three! And hopping mad!
Announcer: And now, the men of the Second Armored Division with their famous close order swanning about.
Sergeant: Squad... Camp it up!
Soldiers: Ooh get her! Whoops, I've got your number ducky, you couldn't afford me dear, two three. I'll scratch your eyes out! Don't come the Brigadier bit with us dear, we all know where you've been, you military fairy. Two, three, one, two, three, four, five, six. Whoops! Don't look now girls, the man has just minced in with that jolly colour Sergeant, two three. OOOOH!

Social Worker: You vacuous, toffee-nosed, malodorous, pervert!
Man: What? I came here for an argument!
Social Worker: Oh, sorry, this is "Abuse".

Biggles: Miss Bladder, take a letter.
Miss Bladder: Yes, Señor Biggles.
Biggles: Don't call me "Señor!" I'm not a Spanish person. You must call me Mr. Biggles or Group Captain Biggles, or Mary Biggles if I'm dressed as my wife, but never "Señor!"

Monty Python at the Hollywood Bowl

Michelangelo: Good evening, Your Holiness.
Pope: Evening, Michelangelo. I want to talk to you about this painting of yours, The Last Supper. I'm not happy about it.
Michelangelo: Oh, dear. It took me hours.
Pope: Not happy at all.
Michelangelo: Is it the jello you don't like?
Pope: No.
Michelangelo: It does add a bit of colour, doesn't it. Oh, I know, you don't like the kangaroo.
Pope: What kangaroo?
Michelangelo: No problem, I'll paint him out.
Pope: I never saw a kangaroo.
Michelangelo: Uh, he's right at the back. No sweat, I'll make him into a disciple. All right?
Pope: That's the problem.
Michelangelo: What is?
Pope: The disciples.
Michelangelo: Are they too Jewish? I made Judas the most Jewish.
Pope: No, it's just that there are 28 of them.

Michael Palin: You were lucky. We lived for three months in a brown paper bag in a septic tank. We used to have to get up at six o'clock in the morning, clean the bag, eat a crust of stale bread, go to work down the mill for fourteen hours a day week in-week out. When we got home, our Dad would thrash us to sleep with his belt!
Graham Chapman: Luxury! We used to have to get out of the lake at three o'clock in the morning, clean the lake, eat a handful of hot gravel, go to work at the mill every day for tuppence a month, come home, and Dad would beat us around the head and neck with a broken bottle, if we were LUCKY!
Terry Gilliam: Well, we had it tough. We used to have to get up out of the shoebox at twelve o'clock at night, and LICK the road clean with our tongues. We had half a handful of freezing cold gravel, worked twenty-four hours a day at the mill for fourpence every six years, and when we got home, our Dad would slice us in two with a bread knife.
Eric Idle: Right. steels himself I had to get up in the morning at ten o'clock at night, half an hour before I went to bed, eat a lump of cold poison, work twenty-nine hours a day down mill, and pay mill owner for permission to come to work, and when we got home, our Dad would kill us, and dance about on our graves singing "Hallelujah."
Michael Palin: But you try and tell the young people today that... and they won't believe ya'.
All: Nope, nope...

Philosopher's Drinking Song: Immanuel Kant was a real piss-ant who was very rarely stable. Heideggar, Heideggar was a boozy beggar who could think you under the table. David Hume could out-consume Schopenhauer and Hegel. Rene Descartes was a drunken fart: "I drink, therefore I am."

Monty Python and the Holy Grail

All chanting: Run away! Run away!

Black Knight: Have at you!
King Arthur: You are indeed brave, sir knight, but the fight is mine.
Black Knight: Oh, had enough, eh?
King Arthur: Look, you stupid bastard. You've got no arms left!
Black Knight: Yes I have.
King Arthur: Look!
Black Knight: It's just a flesh wound!

The Black Knight continues to threaten Arthur despite getting both his arms cut off
King Arthur: What are you gonna do, bleed on me?

Sir Bedevere: What makes you think she's a witch?
Peasant: Well she turned me into a newt!
Sir Bedevere: A newt?!
*beat*
Peasant: I got better.
Crowd: Burn her anyway!

Sir Bedevere: There are ways of telling whether she is a witch.
Peasant 1: Are there? Oh well, tell us.
Sir Bedevere: Tell me. What do you do with witches?
Peasant 1: Burn them.
Sir Bedevere: And what do you burn, apart from witches?
Peasant 1: More witches.
Peasant 2: Wood.
Sir Bedevere: Good. Now, why do witches burn?
Peasant 3: ...because they're made of... wood?
Sir Bedevere: Good. So how do you tell whether she is made of wood?
Peasant 1: Build a bridge out of her.
Sir Bedevere: But can you not also build bridges out of stone?
Peasant 1: Oh yeah.
Sir Bedevere: Does wood sink in water?
Peasant 1: No, no, it floats! It floats! Throw her into the pond!
Sir Bedevere: No, no. What else floats in water?
Peasant 1: Bread!
Peasant 2: Apples!
Peasant 3: Very small rocks!
Peasant 1: Cider!
Peasant 2: Gravy!
Peasant 3: Cherries!
Peasant 1: Mud!
Peasant 2: Churches! Churches!
Peasant 3: Lead! Lead!
King Arthur: A Duck.
Sir Bedevere: Exactly! So, logically...
Peasant 1: If she... weighs the same as a duck... she's made of wood.
Sir Bedevere: And therefore?
Peasant 2: A witch!
Crowd: A witch!
Sir Bedevere: We shall use my larger scales! Right, remove the supports!
Crowd: A witch! A witch!
Accused Witch: It's a fair cop.

King Arthur: I am your king!
Woman: Well I didn't vote for you!
King Arthur: You don't vote for kings.
Woman: Well how'd you become king then?
Angelic music plays...
King Arthur: The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. That is why I am your king!
Dennis: interrupting Listen, strange women lyin' in ponds distributin' swords is no basis for a system of government! Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony!

TOP