Whiplash Quotes

Andrew: Hey. Sorry, I'm late.
Terence Fletcher: Well, glad you could fit us into your busy schedule, darling.
Andrew: I know. Look, sorry I'm late, but uh... I'm here, I'm ready to go.
Terence Fletcher: Connelly's playing the part.
Andrew: Yeah, like fuckin' hell he's playing my part.

Terence Fletcher: What the fuck did you just say to me?
Andrew: It's my part.
Terence Fletcher: It's my part and I decide who to lend it to. Usually it's someone who has fucking sticks.

Terence Fletcher: Nieman, you lost the fucking part.
Andrew: No, I didn't! You can't fucking do this to me!
Terence Fletcher: CAN'T?
Andrew: Yeah!
Terence Fletcher: When did you become a fucking expert on what I can or cannot do, you fucking weepy willow shitsack?

Andrew: I earned that part.
Terence Fletcher: You never earned anything. God, you are a self-righteous prick. The only reason you are a core is because you misplaced a folder. The only reason you're in studio band to begin with is because I told you EXACTLY what I'd be asking for in Nassau! Am I wrong?
Andrew: Yeah, yeah. I'm in

studio band because I'm the best player...
Ryan: [interrupts] Hey, why don't you just back off, bro?
Andrew: Hey, you know, fuck off, Johnny Utah! Turn my pages, bitch!
Terence Fletcher: Hey, I can cut you any fucking time I want.
Andrew: You would've cut me by now.
Terence

Fletcher: Try me, you fucking weasel!

Terence Fletcher: [melancholic] Guys, just put your instruments down for a minute.
[plays a slow trumpet song through speakers]
Terence Fletcher: Just listen for a minute. Six years ago, I came across a kid in a practice room, working on his scales. He was early second year and he'd started at Shaffer with a lot of hope. Like all you guys. But the

truth was that he barely squeaked in to begin with and, uh... he was really struggling. The faculty were all telling him, "Maybe this isn't for you." But they didn't see what I saw. This scared, skinny kid, cursing himself because he couldn't get his scales right. I saw a drive in him. And I put him in Studio Band. And when he graduated, Marsalis made him third trumpet at Lincoln Center. A year

later, he was first. That's who you're listening to now. His name was Sean Casey. I found out this morning that Sean... died yesterday... in a car accident. And I just... I wanted you guys to know he was a beautiful player. I just thought you should know.
[wipes tears from his eyes]
Terence Fletcher: I'm sorry.

Terence Fletcher: [after several hours of drumming] Maybe it's time to *finally* bring this home. What do you say?
[Nieman starts drumming]
Terence Fletcher: Don't slow down. Pick it up! FASTER!
[bangs cowbell in front of Nieman]
Terence Fletcher: FASTER!
[throws drum]
Terence Fletcher:

FASTER! FASTER! FASTER! KEEP PLAYING, KEEP PLAYING, KEEP PLAYING. DON'T STOP!
[calls for a halt]
Terence Fletcher: Nieman, you earned the part.

Carl Tanner: I need to look at the music.
Andrew: Oh yeah, it's right here.
Carl Tanner: Why isn't it on you?
Andrew: [notices the folder is missing] Where's the folder?
Carl Tanner: You're joking, right?
Andrew: I'm not. No, literally... no. I-I-I swear, I just

had it here two seconds ago. It's gotta be around here.
Carl Tanner: How could you be so fucking stupid?
Andrew: I don't know, maybe a janitor came by or something...
Carl Tanner: A janitor? FIND THE FUCKING FOLDER! A FUCKING JANITOR? YOU'RE A DUMB FUCK! A DUMB FUCK!