Fist Fight Movie Quotes

We've searched our database for all the quotes and captions related to Fist Fight Movie. Here they are! All 6 of them:

I want you to do me a favor. I want you to hit me as hard as you can." I looked around and said, okay. Okay, I say, but outside in the parking lot. So we went outside, and I asked if Tyler wanted it in the face or in the stomach. Tyler said, "Surprise me." I said I had never hit anybody. Tyle said, "So go crazy, man." I said, close your eye. Tyler said, "No." Like every guy on his first night at fight club, I breathed in and swung my fist in a roundhouse at Tyler's jaw like in every cowboy movie we'd ever seen, and me, my fist connected with the side of Tyler's neck.
Chuck Palahniuk
about her powers when she’s in real combat where she doesn’t trust the opponent,” I point out. “She doesn’t trust anyone but us,” Kai dutifully reminds us. “I expected more of a challenge from Lilith,” Jude says, not acknowledging our conversation. “Clearly, since you covered your eyes like a little bitch boy in a horror movie,” the twins state in unison. Jude cuts a glare toward their smirking faces, as they fist bump each other and waggle their eyebrows. “Seeing Death cower in fear was more entertaining than the fight. I hope you do it again, considering I’m greedy and enjoyed that immensely,” the embodiment of Greed tells us. “I was embarrassed for you,” the other twin says with a shudder, proving, possibly for the first time, that they don’t have one coherent mind they share. “Have some pride,” the embodiment of Pride adds. My lips twitch when I worry Jude’s head is going to blow off his shoulders with the visible fury that is
Kristy Cunning (One Apocalypse (The Dark Side, #4))
on their target about now. Six on one, overwhelming force, or so they thought. Puller was a first-rate, superbly trained close-quarters fighter. But he was not Superman. This was not a movie where he could Matrix his way to victory. It would be fearful men fighting, making mistakes but certainly landing some blows. Puller tipped the scales at well over two hundred pounds. The men he would be facing tonight collectively weighed about a thousand pounds. They had twelve fists and a dozen legs to his two and two. Six against one, hand-to-hand, no matter how good you were or how inept the six were, would likely result in defeat. Puller could take out three or four rather quickly. But the remaining two or three men would probably get in a lucky shot and possibly knock him down. And then it would be over. Bats and bars would rain down on him and then a gunshot would end it all. If one had a choice—and sometimes one did—a truly superb close-quarters fighter only fought when the conditions favored him. He didn’t have much time, because they would quickly determine that he was not in the room. Then they would do one of two things: leave and come back, or set a trap and wait for him. And a trap would involve a perimeter. At least he was counting on that, because a perimeter meant that the six men would have
David Baldacci (The Forgotten (John Puller, #2))
Maybe it’s not a coincidence that I’ve always been interested in heroes, starting with my dad, Phil Robertson, and my mom, Miss Kay. My other heroes are my pa and my granny, who taught me how to play cards and dominoes and everything about fishing (which was a lot), and my three older brothers, who teased me, beat me up, and sometimes let me follow them around. Not much has changed in that department. I’ve always loved movies, and when I was about seven or eight years old, I watched Rocky, Sylvester Stallone’s movie about an underdog boxer who used his fists, along with sheer will, determination, and the ability to endure pain, to make a way for himself. He fought hard but played fair and had a soft spot for his friends. I fell in love with Rocky. He was my hero, and I became obsessed. When I decide to do something, I’m all in; so I found a pair of red shorts that looked like Rocky’s boxing trunks and a navy blue bathrobe with two white stripes on the sleeve and no belt. I took off my shirt and ran around bare-chested in my robe and shorts. Most kids I knew went through a superhero phase, but they picked DC Comics guys, like Batman or Superman. Not me. I was Rocky Balboa, the Italian Stallion, and proud of it. Mom let me run around like that for a couple of years, even when we went in to town. Rocky had a girlfriend, Adrian, who was always there, always by his side. When he was beaten and blinded in a bad fight, he called out for her before anybody else. “Yo, Adrian!” he shouted in his Philly-Italian accent. He needed her. Eventually, I grew up, and the red shorts and blue bathrobe didn’t fit anymore, but I always remembered Rocky’s kindness and his courage. And that every Rocky needs an Adrian.
Jep Robertson (The Good, the Bad, and the Grace of God: What Honesty and Pain Taught Us About Faith, Family, and Forgiveness)
Here’s the thing about close combat in real life: It’s almost always over in a matter of seconds. Not like in the movies, where your hero has the luxury to strategize and maneuver and grapple for minutes on end. Fortunately, when your life is in danger, your brain kicks in. Deep inside your brain this little almond-shaped gland called the amygdala sends out the signal to make your body start pumping out dopamine and adrenaline and cortisol. Time seems to slow, your focus sharpens, you suddenly start perceiving way more stimuli than normal. Neurologists call this tachypsychia. Everyone else calls it the fight-or-flight response. Cavemen who didn’t have it got eaten by saber-toothed tigers. So I made a quick decision. I could either be incapacitated by a Taser, or I could put myself within the reach of Bondarchuk’s fists. No choice.
Joseph Finder (Vanished (Nick Heller, #1))
The camaraderie of the trail was a constant. To Cisco, Pancho was “Chico,” and their allegiances were first and foremost to each other. Though Cisco would often scold his partner for stupidity, no other man was allowed to denigrate his friend. Cisco was a fighter, a formidable foe with fists or guns. The fights, especially in the Jack Mather syndications, were wildly verbal, with Cisco and Pancho jabbering away even in the thick of fisticuffs. And now, hombre, we shall see if you are as tough as your words! (Punch-punch-punch) Ah’ll kill you, Cisco! (Punch-pummel-pound) Oh, I think not! (Punch-punch-slug) Ceesco! Behind you! (Jab, dance, punch-punch) I see him, Pancho! And now it is time to show these hombres that the Cisco Kid means exactly what he says! A furious finish, with more chatter, punches, and broken chairs, and the final sound of a badman taking a fall. These fights today are hilarious, like a B-movie western in which the hero never loses his hat.
John Dunning (On the Air: The Encyclopedia of Old-Time Radio)