"Do something. Do something. You phony prick fraudulent motherfucker. Do something! Come on! Prove it! Fuck faith! Earn it! Show me something real! I need it now. Not later. Now! Show me and I'll believe in you until the day I die. I swear. I'm calling on you. I'm calling on you! [receives no response] Fuck it. I'll do it myself."

"[stumbling upon the wolves' den] The den. It's their fucking den."

"There's not a second that goes by when I'm not thinking of you in some way. I want to see your face, feel your hands in mine, feel you against me. But I know that will never be. You left me, and I can't get you back. I move like I imagine the damned do, cursed. And I feel like it's only a matter of time. I don't know why I'm writing this. I don't know what can come of it. I know I can't get you back. I don't know why this has happened to us. I feel like it's me. Bad luck. Poison. And I've stopped doing this world any real good."

"Oh fuck man"

"A job at the end of the world. A salaried killer for a big petroleum company. I don't know why I did half the things I've done, but I know this is where I belong, surrounded by my own. Ex-cons, fugitives, drifters, assholes. Men unfit for mankind."

"My dad was not without love... but a cliched Irish motherfucker when he wanted to be. Drinker, brawler, all that stuff. Never shed a tear. Saw weakness everywhere. But he had this thing for poems... poetry. Reading them, quoting them. Probably thought it rounded him off, you know. His way of apologizing, I guess. And there was one that hung over the desk in his den. It was only when I was a lot older, I realized he had written it. It was untitled, four lines. I read it at his funeral. "Once more into the fray. Into the last good fight I'll ever know. Live and die on this day. Live and die on this day.""

"We're going to get a large branch and sharpen the end of it, and we're going to shove it up this thing's ass. Then we're going to eat it."

"come on, man"

"Dermot Mulroney - Jerome Talget"

"I'm going to start beating the shit out of you in the next five seconds."

"Daniel Sauli - Richard Guadagno"

"Trish Gates - Sandra Bradshaw"

"[last lines]] [as the plane inverts] Allahu Akbar!"

"[first lines] Ziad. It's time."

"Peter Hermann - Jeremy Glick"

"Corey Johnson - Louis J. Nacke, II"

"[Bingham wrestling him for the controls] I can't pull! I can't!"

"I'm not taking any more chances. We got stuff flying around we have no control over, and I don't want a board full of these planes hitting every building on the East Coast. This is a national emergency. Everyone lands, regardless of destination."

"Cheyenne Jackson - Mark Bingham"

"We should kill her now. We don't need her."

"[grabbing flight attendant Debbie Welsh from behind] Allahu Akbar!"

"Richard Bekins - William Joseph Cashman"

"[killing Debbie Welsh] In the name of God!"

"[as he puts the plane into a steep dive] Allahu Akbar!"

"David Alan Basche - Todd Beamer"

"[after he snatches the bomb] I got it! I got it! I got it! It's a fake! It's a fake! The bomb's a fake! It's a fake!"

"Open the door. Open the door and nobody will be hurt."

"[as the passengers batter the cockpit door with the serving cart] If we don't get in there, we'll all die!"

"Hey, this is a suicide mission. We have to do something. They are not going to land this plane; they are not going to take us back to the airport."

""United 93" winds up feeling like a cross between a motion picture and 90 minutes of therapy — the kind of movie we should see, in that civic obligation sort of way, rather than the kind we might actually enjoy. There’s not a lot to learn from this story; every last person in the audience knows exactly what is going to happen. The movie meanders back and forth across the line separating documentary reenactment from full-blown drama, never quite committing either way. But there’s a grit — a vicious, real-time tension — that serves to heighten rather than undermine the crescendo. Virtually every scene is hewed to a sharp and frightening simplicity, blissfully free of the usual cinematic bloviations."

"Hi, Mom, it's me. I'm on the plane that's been hijacked. I'm just calling to tell you that I love you, and goodbye. This really kind woman handed me the phone and she said to call you."

"Lord to you I have submitted myself, given you my faith. On you I depend."

"I promise you, if I get out of this, I'm quitting tomorrow. I'll quit tomorrow. I promise, I'll quit tomorrow."

"Is it too soon for United 93? Is it too soon for a stark, solemn and sobering depiction of how passengers on the fourth hijacked jet of that awful morning overpowered their captors, driving their plane into the ground and sparing us what might have been the most emotionally crippling blow of all: the destruction of the U.S. Capitol. Is it too soon for that? The question vexes me. We're not talking about taste here, after all. Not one has said United 93 is a bad or exploitative movie. So the issue of whether it is 'too soon' for this film clearly springs from a less high-minded concern: that it will hurt too much; that it will be too visceral a reminder of too painful a day."

"On September 11, one of the darkest days in our history, 40 ordinary people sat down as strangers and stood up as one."