Harry Lime

— Where'd he go?
— Maybe he committed suicide.

— Merry Christmas, little fella! We know that you're in there, and that you're all alone.
— Yeah, come on, kid. Open up. It's Santy Claus and his elf!
— We're not gonna hurt you!
— No, no. Got some nice presents for you!
— Be a good little fella now and open the door!

— Marv?
— Harry?
— Why'd you take your shoes off?
— Why are you dressed like a chicken?

l've got a gun in my pocket. You open your mouth, and you'll be spitting gum out through your forehead.

— He's only a kid, Harry. We can take him.
— Ah, shut up, will you?
— What is it? You're missing some teeth.
— Where? It's my gold tooth. My gold tooth. I'll kill him. I'll kill him! You bomb me with one more can, kid and I'll snap off your cojones and boil them in motor oil!

— Nice move, leaving the water running. Now we know each and every house that you've hit. We've been looking for you guys for a long time.
— Yeah. Well, remember, we're the «Wet Bandits». Wet Bandits, that's W-E-T...
— Shut up! Get in the car!