Rick And Morty Quotes

Listen Morty, I hate to break it to you, but what people calls "love" is just a chemical reaction that compels animals to breed. It hits hard, Morty, then it slowly fades, leaving you stranded in a failing marriage. I did it. Your parents are gonna do it. Break the cycle, Morty. Rise above. Focus on science.

Little tip, Morty. Never clean DNA vials with your spit.

Villains? That's how losers call winners

Morty: "I mean, why would a Pop-Tart want to live inside a toaster, Rick? I mean, that would be like the scariest place for them to live. You know what I mean?" Rick: "You're missing the point Morty. Why would he drive a smaller toaster with wheels? I mean, does your car look like a smaller version of your house? No.

I sprinkle some flour on the dough and roll it out with the heavy, wooden rolling pin. Once it’s the perfect size and thickness, I flip the rolling pin around and sing into the handle—American Idol style. “Calling Gloriaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa . . .” And then I turn around. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Without thinking, I bend my arm and throw the rolling pin like a tomahawk . . . straight at the head of the guy who’s standing just inside the kitchen door. The guy I didn’t hear come in. The guy who catches the hurling rolling pin without flinching—one-handed and cool as a gorgeous cucumber—just an inch from his perfect face. He tilts his head to the left, looking around the rolling pin to meet my eyes with his soulful brown ones. “Nice toss.” Logan St. James. Bodyguard. Totally badass. Sexiest guy I have ever seen—and that includes books, movies and TV, foreign and domestic. He’s the perfect combo of boyishly could-go-to-my-school kind of handsome, mixed with dangerously hot and tantalizingly mysterious. If comic-book Superman, James Dean, Jason Bourne and some guy with the smoothest, most perfectly pitched, British-Scottish-esque, Wessconian-accented voice all melded together into one person, they would make Logan fucking St. James. And I just tried to clock him with a baking tool—while wearing my Rick and Morty pajama short-shorts, a Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt I’ve had since I was eight and my SpongeBob SquarePants slippers. And no bra. Not that I have a whole lot going on upstairs, but still . . . “Christ on a saltine!” I grasp at my chest like an old woman with a pacemaker. Logan’s brow wrinkles. “Haven’t heard that one before.” Oh fuck—did he see me dancing? Did he see me leap? God, let me die now. I yank on my earbuds’ cord, popping them from my ears. “What the hell, dude?! Make some noise when you walk in—let a girl know she’s not alone. You could’ve given me a heart attack. And I could’ve killed you with my awesome ninja skills.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “No, you couldn’t.” He sets the rolling pin down on the counter. “I knocked on the kitchen door so I wouldn’t frighten you, but you were busy with your . . . performance.” Blood and heat rush to my face. And I want to melt into the floor and then all the way down to the Earth’s core.

Beth: Dad? I feel like I've spent my life pretending you're a great guy and trying to be like you. And the ugly truth has always been- - Rick: That I'm not that great a guy and you're exactly like me. Beth: Am I evil? Rick: Worse. You're smart. When you know nothing matters, the universe is yours. And I've never met a universe that was into it. The universe is basically an animal. It grazes on the ordinary. It creates infinite idiots just to eat them, not unlike your friend Timmy. Beth: Tommy Rick: Yeah, hardly matters now, sweetie. You know, smart people get a chance to climb on top and take reality for a ride, but it'll never stop trying to throw you, and eventually it will. There's no other way off. Beth: Dad, I’m not out of excuses to not be who I am. So who am I? What do I do? Rick: My advice, take off. Put a saddle on your universe, let it kick itself out.

Rick, the only connection between your unquestionable intelligence and the sickness destroying your family is that everyone in your family, you included, use intelligence to justify sickness. You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse, and I think its because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it's your mind within your control. You chose to come here you chose to talk, to belittle my vocation, just as you chose to become a pickle. You are the master of your universe, and yet you are dripping in rat blood and feces. Your enormous mind literally vegetating by your own hand. I have no doubt that you would be bored senseless by therapy. The same way i'm bored when I brush my teeth and wipe my ass. Because the thing about repairing, maintaining and cleaning is... it's not an adventure. There's no way to do it so wrong you might die. It's just... Work; and the bottom line is some people are OK going to work, and some people... well some people would rather die. Each of us gets to choose.

Como fã de Rick and Morty e Discovery Channel, me considero um homem da ciência. E isso significa que não acredito em premonições. Mas aquele déjà vu bizarro faria até Einstein balançar.

Rick, the only connection between your unquestionable intelligence and the sickness destroying your family is that everyone in your family, you included, use intelligence to justify sickness. You seem to alternate between viewing your own mind as an unstoppable force and as an inescapable curse, and I think it's because the only truly unapproachable concept for you is that it's your mind within your control. You chose to come here you chose to talk, to belittle my vocation, just as you chose to become a pickle. You are the master of your universe, and yet you are dripping in rat blood and feces. Your enormous mind literally vegetating by your own hand. I have no doubt that you would be bored senseless by therapy. The same way I'm bored when I brush my teeth and wipe my ass. Because the thing about repairing, maintaining and cleaning is... it's not an adventure. There's no way to do it so wrong you might die. It's just... Work; and the bottom line is some people are OK going to work, and some people... well some people would rather die. Each of us gets to choose.

- Tai jūs – Rikas? Vadinasi, jūs – Rikas! - o kas čia juokinga, vaikeliuk? Senis irgi nori pasijuokti! - Jūs nesuprasite, aš čia šį tą prisiminiau. Cha cha! – Ašaros sruvo Etiliui per skruostus tiesiai į burną. Jis vis mušė kumščiu į stalą ir kartojo: - Vadinasi, jūs – Rikas! Kas būtų galėjęs pamanyti, kad taip juokingai! Nei pūpsančių raumenų, nei valingo smakro, nei šautuvo. Tik pilnas pinigų kapšas, smaragdinis žiedas ir atsikišęs pilvas! - Ei, galvok, ką šneki! Aš gal ir ne Apolonoas, bet... - Duokite ranką, Rikai. Seniai norėjau su jumis susipažinti. Tai jūs užkariausite Marsą su kokteilių plaktuvais, supinatoriais, pokerio kauliukais, jodinėtojų šmaikštais, auliniais batais, languotomis kepi ir romu. - Aš viso labo tik kuklus biznesmenas, - droviai nuleidęs akutes pasakė Van Plankas. – Dirbu savo darbą ir gaunu už tai kuklų užmokestį. Bet, kaip sakiau, Mortai, aš jau seniai galvoju, kad reikia aprūpinti Marsą dėdulės Vigilio žaislais ir Diko treisio komiksais – ten tie dalykai bus naujovė. Šitokia didelė prekybos rinka,- juk pas jus niekas nėra girdėjęs apie politines karikatūras, ar ne? Na, matai! Trumpai drūtai - mes apibersime Marsą visokiomis gėrybėmis. Jie mūsų prekes grobstyte išgrobstys, vaikeliuk! Kas nenorės kvepalų, paryžietiškų suknelių, madingų kombinezonų, sakyk? O aukščiausios klasės avalynė?.. - Mes vaikštome basi. - Ką aš girdžiu? – kreipėsi į lubas R.R. – Klajojančių žemdirbių planeta? Klausyk, Džo, mes tuo pasirūpinsim. Sugėdinsim visus, ir jie apsiaus. O tada parduosime jiems batų tepalo. - O! Jis pliaukštelėjo Etiliui per ranką. - Tai kaip, tinka? Nori būti techninis mano filmo direktorius? Pradžiai gausi po du šimtus per savaitę, o į galą turėsi iki penkių šimtų. Ką pasakysi? - Mane pykina, - pasakė Etilis. Jis buvo išgėręs visą „Manheteną“ ir dabar jau pradėjo mėlti. - Persiprašau. nemaniau, kad tave šitaip susuks.