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Better Call Saul[]

Hank: "[pause] And you are?"
Jimmy: "Saul Goodman. I'm Mr. Molina's attorney, and you're in violation of his constitutional rights."
Hank: "Heh-heh. S'all good, man! [he and Gomez laugh] Really? Come on. That's your name?"
―Hank laughing at Jimmy McGill's nickname.[src]

Hank: "Okay, Domingo! Start talking."
Jimmy: "Go ahead."
Krazy-8: "Like I said, the dealers kick up the cash. I don't know who picks it up. All I know is that there are three dead drops they run on Thursday nights, and-"
Jimmy: "Hold on."
Hank: "What? What!?"
Jimmy: "Look, I know how this goes, alright? My guy talks to you, you squeeze him out like a sponge, then you dump him back on the street. Word gets out that he's a fink, he ends up bleeding out in front of his mother's house."
Krazy-8: "What?!"
Jimmy: "No, it's not gonna happen, okay? Do you hear what I'm saying? My client is not leaving here with a target on his back."
Hank: "[taps on the table] Fine. We'll take care of him. Assuming this isn't one big jag-off, it'll look like he got out because... his lawyer's a genius."
Jimmy: "Okay, and he's... he's not just anyone's CI, either, alright? You don't pass him around like a venereal disease. He's your personal CI. So, he gets picked up: you call me, I call you, it gets taken care of, no questions asked."
Hank: "Okay, but it's contingent."
Jimmy: "Sure."
Hank: "And it better be worth it."
―Jimmy demands protection for Krazy-8 as a confidential informant of Hank and Steven Gomez.[src]

Breaking Bad[]

Walter: "Hank, how much money is that?"
Hank: "It's about 700 grand. It was a pretty good haul."
Walter: "Well, that's unusual, isn't it? That kind of cash?"
Hank: "Mm. Well, it's not the most we ever took. It's easy money, till we catch you. Walt, just say the word and I'll take you on a ride-along. You can watch us knock down a meth lab, huh? Get a little excitement in your life."
Walter: "Yeah, someday."
―Walter and Hank at Walter's birthday party.[src]

"So be on notice: We got new players in town. Now we don’t know who they are or where they came from, but they possess an extremely high skill set. Me personally, I think Albuquerque might just have a new kingpin."
―Hank talking to his DEA team about Heisenberg's arrival.[src]

"Chick’s got an ass like an onion... makes me wanna cry."
―Hank after meeting Principal Carmen.[src]
Hank: "All right. Other than Gomie here pees sitting down, here's what we know. Christian Ortega, a.k.a. Combo. Shot dead by an unknown assailant last month. "Combo?" I hear you say. "Why, I'm unfamiliar with that name. Was he a Nobel laureate perchance?" No. He was a dipshit wannabe banger. Now, no arrests, save for stealing a baby Jesus from a Knights of Columbus manger back when he was 17. This dude was so low-rep, he never showed up on our radar. So why am I talking about him? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?"
Steve: "He was dealing Blue Sky."
Hank: "That's right. Now, how is it that the purest, most professional grade of meth we've ever come across is being slung by the likes of that? But wait. It gets better. Since baby-Jesus thief there slowed a bullet with his neck the blue stuff's vanished from town, okay? Not a speck to be found in Albuquerque. Now, why is that?"
Steve: "Well, because maybe your "Heisenberg"'s in prison. So says A.P.D. They think they got their man. (Hank laughs) I know you don't buy it, but maybe it's true."
Hank: "James Edward Kilkelly, yeah. A.P.D. thinks this is our mastermind. You believe that, I got a bridge to sell you."
Steve: "He copped to it, didn't he?"
Hank: "For an extra pudding cup every night at Los Lunas? Maybe if you give him a pack of cigarettes, he'll tell you what he did with Jimmy Hoffa. No, no, no. I've been thinking. Top-shelf product like this? It doesn't fall off the face of the earth. Raw talent's bound to pop up somewhere. It's like Whack-A-Mole. So I've been making phone calls. Local police departments, small-town sheriffs. Haven't had much luck inside the Land of Enchantment. But outside, I've got reports of the blue stuff making a scene here in Texas, Arizona, Colorado and Nevada. In fact, everywhere but here. Almost as if somebody wised up, stopped shitting where they eat. Now, I say Heisenberg's still out there. I say he's gone regional. Only he's still right here in town."
―Hank suggests some details about Heisenberg.[src]

"It wasn't one mistake. I've been... unraveling, y'know? I don't sleep at night anymore. I freeze, I freeze up. My chest gets all tight, I can't breathe. Just... I panic. Ever since that Salamanca thing. Tuco Salamanca, if ever a scumbag deserved a bullet between the eyes... It changed me and I can't seem to control it. I try to fight it, but then El Paso. It just got worse. What I did to Pinkman...that's not who I'm supposed to be. All this, everything that's happened, I swear to God, Marie, I think the universe is trying to tell me something and I'm finally ready to listen. I'm just not the man I thought I was. I think I'm done as a cop."
―Hank talking to his wife, Marie.[src]

"I walked sixteen feet in twenty minutes, which is up from like fifteen-and-a-half yesterday. And I had maybe this much less shit in my pants. So, yeah, Marie, if you and him and everybody else in America secretly took a vote and changed the meaning of the entire English language, yeah, I guess I broke new ground."
―Hank while recovering from The Cousins' attack.[src]

"I mean, what do we know about Gustavo Fring, huh? This whole friend of law enforcement thing? Could be a case of keep your friends close, but your enemies closer. I mean, he's got the money to finance this operation, maybe he's got the connections, too. Maybe – just maybe – he's our guy."
―Hank correctly suspecting Gustavo Fring is a drug kingpin[src]

"Yeah. It seems that, uh, Fring had all these secret offshore accounts that he would deposit money into. Like, uh, well, an even dozen of them. And they're all in the names of certain people on his payroll. There was the, uh, the manager of the laundry, umm, a couple guys from the Pollos distribution center. Uh, there was the owner of a chemical warehouse, a bunch of others, you know. Guys that must've been getting paid off the books. Anyway, one of the names...was Kaylee Ehrmantraut. Ten years old and just cute as a button. Yeah. $2 million and change we found on deposit for her. Way more than anybody else. Now, my partner here? He took one look at that and said, "Shit, man! This fifth-grade girl is the muscle behind Fring's entire operation!" I said, "Whoa, whoa, hey, partner, slow down there. Maybe it was actually her dear old granddaddy." Impressive, no? That... level of insight? He's not impressed, Gomie."
―Hank questioning Mike Ehrmantraut in a DEA interrogation room[src]

"It was you. All along, it was you! You son of a bitch. You drove into traffic to keep me from that laundry. That call I got telling me Marie was in the hospital... that wasn't Pinkman. You had my cell number. You killed ten witnesses to save your sorry ass. You bombed a nursing home. Heisenberg. Heisenberg! You lying, two-face sack of shit."
―Hank confronting Walter White after finding out he was Heisenberg.[src]

"I swear to Christ..... I will put you under the jail."
―Hank threatening Walt.[src]

"Skyler, my– my head is spinning. And yours... I–I can't even imagine. So much makes sense to me now. You jumping in the pool. You sending us your kids, I get it. I just wished I'd seen it sooner. He's a monster. He's a– Look, I don't know what he did to you to force you to keep his secrets. If he threatened you, or whatever mind games he played. I don't know if there was abuse. But I want you to know that you can be open with me. Don't hold anything back, okay? I mean, I don't even understand if you know the full extent of this, what he's done. Not just the meth cooking, but the lives he's destroyed. But look, that's all behind you. Starting now, you're done being his victim. Because here's what we're gonna do. Sky, here's what we're gonna do: you and the kids are gonna move back to our house where you'll be safe, where he can't get to you."
―Hank to Skyler about Walt.[src]

Hank: "I mean, you see, building a case this big, gathering all this evidence, enough to get a conviction, we're talking a long-haul proposition here, and I don't want that bastard running out the clock. But with your testimony--"
Skyler: "Wait, what do you mean running out the clock?"
Hank: "His cancer. His cancer's back. So he said. He didn't tell you? Who's to say it's even true? Lying piece of shit. Look, regardless, I mean, we'll just assume. Fine. Okay? You know what? That son of a bitch looks me in the eye and he says if what I know is true, if... he'll be dead before I can prove it. The balls on that son of a– I got all these little pieces. They're all part of the story, right? But they don't mean much on their own. But when you start telling me what you know, when you start filling the gaps, I'll have him in lockup before the sun goes down."
―Hank to Skyler about Walt.[src]

"Look, the day I go in with this, it's the last day of my career, Marie. I'm going to have to walk in there, look those people in the eye and admit that the person I've been chasing the past year is my own brother-in-law. It's over for me. Ten seconds after I tell this story, I'm a civilian. Then how can we help Skyler if she comes to her senses? When I go in there, I'm bringing proof. Not suspicion. I can be the man who caught him, at least."
―Hank to Marie.[src]

Walter: "This investigation, Hank-- Do you realize what this will do to him? Hearing these things?"
Hank: "He's gonna hear it when I kick in your front door and arrest you."
―Hank to Walt about Walter Jr.[src]

Walter: "Look, Junior just found out that my cancer is back. He's already facing the idea of living without his father. To put this on top of that? It's just not right."
Hank: "I swear to God, you start throwing the word "right" at me- (...) Was it right to run a drug empire?"
Walter: "There is no drug empire."
Hank: "Lying to your son, to all of us-- is that right?"
―Walter and Hank arguing.[src]

"No, it's not a solution. He's not getting off that easy."
―Hank after hearing Marie's suggestion for Walt to kill himself.[src]

Hank: "Both of you think you're just gonna walk away from this thing? Never gonna happen."
Walter: "That is not what we're saying--"
Hank: "Enough with the bullshit. You're not gonna negotiate your way out of this thing. There's only one solution-- step up, be a man, and admit what you've done. That's it. There is no other option."
―Hank threatening Walt and Skyler.[src]

Marie: "Who do you think he's shown this to?"
Hank: "No one. It's a threat. It's what he will do if I don't back off."
Marie: "I think you should show this to Ramey. Just get ahead of it. That video is a bunch of lies, Hank. Anybody who knows you will know."
Hank: "$177,000? Hell's he talking about? Marie?"
Marie: "They told me it was gambling money."
Hank: "What was gambling money? Oh, Jesus Christ, Marie. Oh, God, no."
Marie: "How was I supposed to know? How was I supposed to know where it really came from?"
Hank: "Why were they paying for my medical bills? What about my insurance?"
Marie: "Insurance wouldn't have covered the treatment that you needed, and I... I just wanted the best for you."
Hank: "Why didn't you tell me?"
Marie: "Because I knew that you would refuse it, and without it, you may never have been able to walk again."
Hank: "Oh, Christ, Marie. You killed me here. I mean, it's the- that's the last nail. That's the last nail in the coffin."
―Hank and Marie after watching Walt's fake confession.[src]

Jesse: "He can't keep getting away with it! He can't keep getting away with it!"
Hank: "He won't. You really wanna burn him down? Let's do it together."
―Hank to Jesse about working together to take Walt down.[src]

Gomez: "What if the kid's right? What if it's a trap?"
Hank: ""The kid"? Oh, you mean the junkie murderer that's dribbling all over my guest bathroom floor? Well, then, he's right. Pinkman gets killed, and we get it all on tape."
―Hank to Gomez about Jesse.[src]

"Walter White, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney and have an attorney present during any questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you at the government's expense. Do you understand these rights as I have just recited them to you?"
―Hank reading Walt his Miranda rights after finally catching him.[src]

Hank: "Hey, baby. I got him. Dead to rights."
Marie: "You got Walt?"
Hank: "Yeah. I got him in handcuffs as we speak. Want me to wave to him for you? Huh? Well, he's not, uh-- he's not feeling too friendly."
―Hank to Marie about catching Walt.[src]

Hank: "Things are gonna be a little rough for the next couple weeks, but they'll get better. Baby, you okay?"
Marie: "I'm much better now."
Hank: "I gotta go. It may be awhile before I get home. I love you."
Marie: "I love you too."
―Hank and Marie during their final conversation.[src]

Jack: "How about it, Hank? Should I let you go?"
Hank: "My name is ASAC Schrader. And you can go fuck yourself."
―Hank refusing Jack's "offer" to be let go.[src]

"You're the smartest guy I ever met.. And you're too stupid to see... He made up his mind 10 minutes ago. [pauses] Do what you're gonna d-"
―Hank's last words before getting shot by Jack Welker[src]

Hank's Blog[]

"Hank Schrader here. Thought I’d give this whole “blog” thing a try. My nephew, Walt, Jr. was telling me all about his, saying I should get one to share my “kick ass” stories on. Finally had to give in, just to get the kid to shut up. I’m kidding — I love the little bastard. Anyway he helped me set this thing up. No idea how he did it. I’m telling you, the kid’s a freaking genius. Good looking too (just like his uncle)! Better grab him up quick girls, he’s not gonna be on the market long, I can tell you that. But seriously, he’s a great kid — not one of those punk-asses I gotta deal with all the time at my job. I’m a federal agent with the Drug Enforcement Administration, so you can imagine, I deal with some serious morons. Gotta wonder about the dim-witted hordes that pass for today’s youth, but Junior here definitely gives me some hope. Not that he hasn’t had his moments, but his folks might read this, so I’m gonna stop there. (I’m joshing you Sky and Walt – you’ve got a great kid there!) Okay, this took me 45 minutes to type."
―Hank's first blog entry[src]

"What a week, you guys. It’s like everyone’s just trying to push my buttons. I mean, I’m an easy-going guy usually, but for some reason, everything’s driving me batshit right now. I’m trying to keep the peace, playing a little game of “No, everything’s NOT completely effed up with the family” for my poor nephew. Meanwhile, my wife’s curiosity about the specifics of this whole mess is making my head hurt. Stop looking for conspiracies… men just aren’t that complicated, I’m sorry to say. Like that wasn’t enough, my wife’s all pissed that I “stole” her idea for my entry about jury duty. Baby, please… now, who had a blog first? What was that? I didn’t hear you… maybe speak up a little… Oh, I did?! That’s right! I did! So, who’s stealing ideas, sugar? Hmm… little quiet there… Alright, then — I consider that matter settled. What else, what else? Oh, yeah… Gomie’s been driving me up a freaking wall about how since I haven’t seen a certain movie (that shall remain nameless) in 3D, then I haven’t really seen it. For chrissakes — I don’t give a crap about 3D. There, I said it! I don’t care. The glasses piss me off. When the all-knowing gods of 3D figure out how to do it without the giant dorky glasses, then maybe we’ll talk. Until then, I’m sticking with the 2D classics of ass-kicking. Gimme some Aliens over that fruity 3D crap, any day."
―Hank's second blog entry[src]

"Here’s a joke: three guys go to see this world famous doctor, who says he can cure anyone of anything. He just looks at you, knows what’s wrong, and then he fixes you: magic! Doctor calls the first guy in: “What seems to be the trouble?” Guy says: “I’m sad all the time and I want to kill myself.” Doctor says, “Aha! You’re depressed. Take some Zoloft, see a therapist, get over yourself. Next!” Next guy comes in limping. Doc: “What seems to be the trouble?” Guy says: “I cut my leg and now it’s turning colors and I can’t feel nothing.” Doctor looks at the leg, which is black from the knee down: pus, goo, blood, real nasty stuff. “Aha!” says the doc, “You’ve got gangrene. That leg’s gonna have to come off.” Final guy comes in; doc asks what’s the trouble. Guy says, “I can’t eat, I can’t sleep, and I’m bleeding from my ears and every orifice.” Doctor looks at the blood trickling out the guys ears, says “Aha! You have Ebola!” Then he prepares a syringe of green liquid — something weird, looks like jello or something — shoots it into the guy’s leg and sends him off: “You’re cured!” The guy wobbles out, still bleeding. Doctor’s nurse hears this and says: “Doctor, what are you doing? There’s no cure for Ebola.” Doctor: “Sure, there is.” Nurse: “What is it?” Doc says, “Death. Call the coroner, would you? I just injected that man with cyanide and he should be dropping over any second now.” I didn’t say it was a funny joke. I just keep thinking about it. I’m not a doctor but I feel like I’m fighting a disease. I know: calling crime a disease sounds like I’m in one of those old-time radio shows where the cops are serious all the time and never swear. But still, that’s what it feels like. I just used to think you could treat this shit. Help these douche-clowns see the error of their ways and turn back from sacks of feces into low-level human beings. Get control of the thing. Barring that, cut off the leg. You got someone on drugs, and you can’t get ’em clean?Lock that asshole up, because it’s only a matter of time before he gets it in his head to rape some kid or rob some grandma. There’s no way to know when, so you just take the scalpel and cut the rot out. You see where I’m going with this. Ebola. Incurable. Fatal. That’s the situation on the ground. Don’t believe me? I saw ten men killed today. Ten bodies, back to back, dead in ways you don’t want to think about. Mostly stabbed and bled out. You ever see a man that’s been burned alive? Yeah, I hadn’t either. It’s disgusting, man. Bloodier than you’d probably think. Pus and skin and a lot of fluid. It’s not all black char and skeleton. It doesn’t look like Luke’s Aunt and Uncle in Star Wars. And the smell: burnt hair and a stale stink like old pork rinds. That’s the fat, I guess, when it liquefies. Sticks in your nose. I hadda wash it out, use one of those saline snot-pots, no lie. Foul, foul stuff. I don’t care that they were shitbirds of the first order. I don’t care. You see something like that and you know: this isn’t a disease that has a cure. These aren’t patients any more we’re talking about. Calling them animals isn’t fair to animals. They’re not criminals, or drug-dealers, or even people. They’re monsters. Plain and simple. All you can do with a monster is all you can do with a guy with Ebola. Put him down. But first, you’ve gotta find him."
―Hank's third blog entry[src]
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