Pool Attendant: They kept it all incognito. They're gonna collect the body in an ice cream van.
Harold: There's a lot of dignity in that, isn't there? Going out like a raspberry ripple.
Harold: The Mafia? I've shit 'em.
Harold: Tell 'em what your name is.
Razors: Razors.
Harold: Or as the youth of today call him, the human spirograph.
Harold: You don't crucify people! Not on Good Friday.
Charlie: This is like a bad night in Vietnam.
Harold: Who's having a go at me? Can you think of anyone who might have an old score to settle or something?
Razors: Who's big enough to take you on?
Harold: Well, there were a few.
Razors: Like who?
Harold: Yeah, they're all dead.
Harold: I'm going to annihilate them.
Jeff: You can't wipe them out.
Harold: You just watch me.
Jeff: Kill 10, 20. Bring out the tanks and the flamethrowers! They pour back, like an army of ants! Work with them.
Harold: No one's heard nothing? That just ain't natural. It's like one of them silent, deadly farts. No clue, and then pow, you go cross-eyed.
Harold: I want the name of your top grass.
Parky: He trusts me Harold, I've known him a long time.
Harold: Then you should remember his name.
Harold: Alan found him dying. He'd been nailed to the floor.
Jeff: When was this, then?
Harold: Well, it must've been just after you saw him and just before Alan saw him. Otherwise, you'd have noticed, wouldn't you? I mean, a geezer nailed to the floor. A man of your education would definitely have spotted that, wouldn't he?
Harold: I'm glad I found out in time just what a partnership with a pair of wankers like you would've been. A sleeping partner's one thing, but you're in a fucking coma! No wonder you got an energy crisis your side of the water.
Harold: The days when Yanks could come over here and buy up Nelson's Column, a Harley Street surgeon and a couple of windmill girls are definitely over.
Victoria: I hate lifts. It gets very claustrophobic in here with a lot of people.
Jeff: Depends on the people.
Harold: I want verbals with you.
Harold: I'll have his carcass dripping blood by midnight.
Carol Benson: You're a bastard, Harold Shand, a vicious bastard.
Harold: The Yanks love snobbery. They really feel they've arrived in England if the upper class treats 'em like shit.
Harold: It's Good Friday. Have a Bloody Mary.
Harold: I'm setting up the biggest deal in Europe with the hardest organization since Hitler stuck as swastika on his jockstrap.
Charlie: Things change, Harold. Don't get nostalgic. Look to the future. You realise you're 35 minutes away from Europe? Great potential. I live in a new country, and I respect the past, but I always keep my eye on the future.
