Maria Gambrelli: Tell me, why do so many men smoke afterwards? No wonder tobacco companies get rich.

[Accusing a suspect, millionaire Benjamin Ballon]
Clouseau: And I submit, Inspector Ballon, that you arrived home, found Miguel with Maria Gambrelli, and killed him in a rit of fealous jage!

[Clouseau has entered a house soaking wet after falling into a fountain]
Clouseau: I'm sorry, my idiot driver parked too close to the fountain.

[phone rings; Dreyfus picks it up]
Dreyfus: Commissioner Dreyfus... Ah, yes, my darling... I was just about to call you. I'm on my way. I've got the cheese and the beaujolais... What? [laughs] ... My love. Kiss the children for me... hmm? [intercom buzzes] Hold on. [covers phone mouthpiece; answers intercom] Yes?
intercom: Your wife is on the other line.
Dreyfus: Tell her I'm out of town.

Maria Gambrelli: [as Clouseau's coat is burning] Your coat, Monsieur!
Clouseau: Yes, it is my coat.

Maria Gambrelli: You can have one of my cigarettes.
Clouseau: Oh, thank you.
Maria Gambrelli:You have it in backwards.
Clouseau: Oh... it tastes very bad that way.

Dreyfus: [a car bomb has just killed the killers. Dreyfus refers to four other killings] A doorman, two customers, and a Cossack! And now eight more dead!
Clouseau: But they were all murderers, except for Maurice, who was a blackmailer!
Dreyfus:[whimpering] They were saints compared to you!

Dreyfus: [Makes nervous sounds crossed between chuckles and whimpers] He released her again, and he's taking her out to dinner to dinner. Every paper in Paris has the story, including the Christian Science Monitor; and he gave them the story. You see he claims he's protecting her lover, and the best way to force him into the open is to make him jealous [nervous chuckles] Jealous! That nincompoop, that megalomaniac. He's setting the science of criminal investigation back a thousand years, and I can't do anyting about it.
The Psycho Analyst: Why not?
Dreyfus:Why not? What if he's right?

Dreyfus: Fran?ois would you please call for a doctor.
Francois: Are you ill?
Dreyfus: I seem to have stabbed myself with the letter opener.

Dreyfus: Fran?ois, I just cut off my thumb.