[handing a fireman, Dave, a newspaper clipping] Read this, pal, and weep: "Paradise for pennies...a Garden of Eden, built on a secluded lagoon with its own private dock and speedboat included. Contact Mr. Banks, St. Nicholas."
I heard about this guy in Cicero, well he stiffed a loanshark, so a couple of these guys got him, cut off his arm, beat him to death with the arm, and shoved it in a food processor and made a dip out of it. Then they served it to his family at his sister's wedding. And the sister loved it so much, she wanted the recipe. It's a crazy world, isn't it?
Last time I smoked that stuff, they found me on top of the Sears Tower trying to build a nest.
[to Ernest Reed, the owner of Club Paradise, during a storm] Oh, sure! Go start a revolution. It's not gonna look good on your resumé, you know!
[yelling at Ernest] Oh Yeah! Rattan's gonna make a nice bulletproof barricade! Why don't you just build yourself a Wicker tank??
[to his girlfriend Phillipa Lloyd ("Miss Philadelphia") after being released from jail] Babe, this is the only country in the world where the constitution is written in pencil.
[creating a new slogan for his club] Club Paradise. Your Hot Spot For Fun With Guns in the Sun.
[As tourists are approaching St. Nicholas International Airport]
Barry Nye: Isn't that the runway?
Pilot: Geez, I hope not. If that runway was any shorter, it'd be a patio!
Ernest Reed: What can I do for you, Mr. Gundy?
Solomon Gundy: Nice to see you again, Ernest.
Ernest Reed: Nice to see you too, Mr. Gundy.
Solomon Gundy: Ernest, I come to you tonight because I'm deeply, deeply concerned. Now, when I became Prime Minister of St. Nicholas, I told you to come to me if you had any problem. Now, as Minister of Finance and Minister of Tourism, it has come to me...that you are delinquent in your taxes to the amount of $6,000, and that you haven't paid your food and beverage taxes; violations of the Tourism Codes; and reports of ganja being smoked right here on these premises. How can this continue?
Ernest Reed: Divine justice, Mr. Gundy. Life is full of miracles.
Solomon Gundy: I'm afraid it will take more than a miracle. Listen to me, Ernest: There is a new wind blowing across St. Nicholas.
Ernest Reed: I smelt it the minute you walked in. It's business, man—you and your bankers and your lawyers are trying to "business" me out of here. Now if you're not drinking and you're not dancing, you'd better be going!
Linda White: Tomorrow Helmut and Christopher are giving me cliff diving lessons.
Randy White: Great! What could be more fun than jumping off a cliff with two German bisexuals?
Jack Moniker: Check it out. What about those two?
Barry Steinberg: Eh... I don't think they're interested.
Barry Nye: Too tall.
Jack Moniker: Come on. They were just talking to me about you.
Barry Steinberg: No.
Barry Nye: Really? Then what?
Jack Moniker: They said you weren't fit to sleep with pigs, but I stood up for you. I said you were.
Jack Moniker: You know, I knew another proud, young, black man, like yourself, once. And I gave him some advice too. I told him, wear one glove - just one glove. The rest was history.
Jack Moniker: Your Excellency. You're looking elegant this evening. Why are we graced with your imperial presence?
Governor Hayes: The fact is, one can smell the suntan oil and the frying female flesh right across the island. I was curious to see what was going on at this perverted passion pit you're running here. This orgy bin. Whatever you call this drug-crazed nipple ranch.
Terry Hamlin: It is so lovely here.
Governor Hayes: I hate beauty. Do you realize how boring it gets looking at beauty day in and day out? Anyway, It can't last much longer.
Terry Hamlin: Are you always this cheerful in the morning?
Governor Hayes: Either the Americans will move in and turn it into Miami Beach, or the Cubans and Russians will come and turn the whole island into bloody Albania. There really is no hope. Islands like St. Nicholas make such nice missle bases, naval stations, money laundries.
Terry Hamlin: Well if there isn't any hope why don't you leave? Go to New York or London?
Governor Hayes: No. If the world is going to hell in a bucket, I want to hold the handle.
[At the Royal St. Nicholas Hotel]
Voit Zerbe: You know, if you were smart, you'd sell that place to me and get out of here. Sure, are you kidding—a guy like you in New York with money in his pocket? Oh, forget it. Take my advice: sell it.
Ernest Reed: I say this for you, Mr. Zerbe: you've got style. But it's not for me.
Voit Zerbe: Well, think it over. I've gotta go, so good luck.
Ernest Reed: See you around.
Governor Hayes: My dear young lady, unlike you, I have not spent my life cruising from discotheque to discotheque with my ass hanging out of a french cut bathing suit.
Phillipa Lloyd: Well, you're missing all the fun, aren't you?