Doyle:
It's a set-up.
Henry Jankle:
...I was under the impression that we'd already purchased ourselves a verdict.
Rankin Fitch:
...you're losing me my jury!
Rankin Fitch:
You think your average juror is King Solomon? No, he's a roofer with a mortgage. He wants to go home and sit in his Barcalounger and let the cable TV wash over him. And this man doesn't give a single, solitary droplet of shit about truth, justice or your American way.
Judge Harkin:
I'm not sure, but I believe I'm buying lunch.
Rankin Fitch:
Ah, I hate Baptists almost as much as I hate Democrats.
Rankin Fitch:
Gentlemen, trials are too important to be left up to juries.
Rankin Fitch:
...the thing of it is, I don't give a shit. What's more... I never have.
Frank Herrera:
[
On nominating Herman for foreman] But...
Eddie Weese:
But he's blind, man. So what? So is justice, right?
Nicholas Easter:
[
after anti-gun fanatic is dragged kicking and screaming from the courtroom during jury selection] Well, I guess that's lunch...
Rankin Fitch:
Everybody has a secret they don't want you to find.
Nicholas Easter:
[
talking about a dead friend] Listen, I dunno if it would be inappropriate, but do you think we could do something today to remember him?
Rikki Coleman:
We could say the Lord's Prayer.
Nicholas Easter:
Well, I don't want to ask people to pray...
Millie Dupree:
How about "God Bless America"?
Nicholas Easter:
[
with more conviction] Oh, I couldn't ask people to *sing*!
Rankin Fitch:
What do you hope to achieve if you win? You gonna bring Jacob Wood back to life? No. You just ensure that his wife goes to the cemetery in a better car, and that the heel that she snaps on the way to the graveside belongs to a $1,200 shoe. You get your name in the paper. But Jacob Wood and all the other gun violence victims remain rotting in their crypts.
[
last lines]
Marlee:
I wanna go home.
Nicholas Easter:
Okay, let's go home.
Rankin Fitch:
Somebody add "class-clown" to Mr. Easter's ever expanding resume.
Marlee:
Anybody can be gotten to.
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