Charlie Simms

— I'd like to disagree with you, Colonel.
— You're in no position to disagree with me, boy. I got a loaded. 45 here. You got pimples.

— I guess you really like women.
— Oh, above all things! A very, very distant second is a Ferrari.

You are not bad, you are just in pain.

— What are you, dying of some wasting disease?
— No, I'm right... I'm right here.
— I know exactly where your body is. What I'm lookin' for is some indication of a brain.

— What do you give a shit for?
— About what?
— About what? About whether I blow my brains out or not.
— Because I have a conscience.
— You have a conscience. I forgot. The Charlie Conscience. Do we tell? Do we not tell? Do we follow the rich boy's code or not? Do we let this blind asshole die or not? Yeah. Conscience, Charlie... When were you born, son? Around the time of the Round Table? Hah. Haven't you heard? Conscience is dead.
– No, I haven't heard.
– Well, then, take the fucking wax outta your ears!

— What's the matter with you?
— With me?
— Yeah. Car feels heavy. You know why? You got the fuckin' weight of the world on your shoulders.

— I want it wall to wall with John Daniels.
— Don't you mean Jack Daniels?
— He may be Jack to you son, but when you've known him as long as I have... that's a joke.

— I'm sorry.
— Don't be sorry. How would you know, watchin' MTV all your life?