Clouseau: Does yer dewg bite? Inn Keeper: No Clouseau: Nice Doggy (bends down to pet a dachshund - it snarls and bites him) I thought you said yer dewg did not bite! Inn Keeper: Zat . . . iz not my dog!
François: Do you know what kind of a bomb it was? Clouseau: Yes, the exploding kind.
It won't be easy, that is why I have always failed where others have succeeded.
Relax, I'll get it. (said to Kato after Clouseau knocks him unconscious)
Gentlemen, you can't fight in here! This is the War Room.
Some forms of reality are so horrible we refuse to face them, unless we are trapped into it by comedy. To label any subject unsuitable for comedy is to admit defeat.