Lieutenant Colonel Frank Slade

Did you ever have the feelin' That you wanted to go And still had the feelin' that you wanted to stay?

— Would you like to learn to tango, Donna?
— Right now?
— I'm offering you my services, free of charge. What do you say?
— I think I'd be a little afraid.
— Of what?
— Afraid of making a mistake.
— No mistakes in the tango, Donna. Not like life. It's simple. That's what makes the tango so great. If you make a mistake, get all tangled up, just tango on.

But there is nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit. There is no prosthetic for that.

— 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.

I always knew what the right path was. Without exception, I knew, but I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard.

— 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.

All my life I stood up to everyone and everything, because it made me feel important.

Oh, Charlie, about your little problem, there are two kinds of people in this world: Those who stand up and face the music, and those who run for cover. Cover's better.

— 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.

Women! What can you say? Who made 'em? God must have been a f***in' genius. The hair... They say the hair is everything, you know. Have you ever buried your nose in a mountain of curls... just wanted to go to sleep forever? Or lips... and when they touched, yours were like... that first swallow of wine... after you just crossed the desert. Tits. Hoo-hah! Big ones, little ones, nipples staring right out at ya, like secret searchlights. Mmm. Legs. I don't care if they're Greek columns... or secondhand Steinways. What's between 'em... passport to heaven.

Are you ready? This is not Panmunjom. A simple yes will do.

You've been the sugar business for so long, you've forgetten the taste of real honey!

— Michael thinks the tango's hysterical.
— I think Michael's hysterical.

You got integrity, Charlie. I don't know whether to shoot you or adopt you.