“Why the page boy and glasses? Because they kill, little man.”
“Without you I’m nothing? The way I see it, you’re the problem and I’m the solution.”
“What part of ‘Stop staring at my ass’ don’t you understand?”
“Yeah? Well, I can out stand you, and out stare you too.”
“I’m taking a good look because I want to remember you when you’re gone.”
“It’s a game I like to play, a little game called ‘Memorize the Face of a Loser.’”
“My ass got me this job, and my ass is going to keep it for me too. I’m sorry I can’t say the same for yours, toots.”
“I should quit, but you know how it is. Show business is in my blood.”
“I can make you, sweetheart, or I can break you. So what’s it going to be, Door No. 1 or Door No. 2?”
“Well, I’m sure you did mean it as a compliment. It’s just that I don’t think I have much in common with a rose that grows in Spanish Harlem. I mean, my efforts at self-definition have pretty much proceeded in opposition to that kind of thinking. And I don’t expect that to change. Ever.”
