Beauty is a beguiling call to death

Johnny Quid: You see that pack of Virginia killing sticks on the end of the piano?

Jimmy M.: Yes.

Johnny Quid: All you need to know about life is retained in those four walls. You will notice that one of your personalities is seduced by the illusions of grandeur: the gold packet of king-size with a regal insignia, an attractive implication towards glamour and wealth, the subtle suggestion that cigarettes are indeed your royal and loyal friends – and that, Pete, is a lie. Your other personality is trying to draw your attention to the flip side of the discussion: written in boring bold black and white, it’s a statement that these neat little soldiers of death are in fact trying to kill you – and that, Pete, is the truth. Oh, beauty is a beguiling call to death and I’m addicted to the sweet pitch of its siren. That that starts sweet ends bitter, and that which starts bitter ends sweet. THAT is why you and I love the drugs and that is also why I cannot give that painting back. Now please, pass me a light.

Jimmy M.: Oh, you are something special, Mr. Johnny Quid.

Jimmy M.: So you don’t wanna know what happened?

Stella: I know what happened. Hollandaise?

Jimmy M.: I see you ordered already.

Stella: You were late. Shouldn’t you have taken precautions?

Jimmy M.: Precautions?

Stella: Well, that’s your job, isn’t it? I didn’t realize.

Jimmy M: Realize? Realize that they had guns? Big, long, dangerous machine guns? With war criminals attached to the trigger?

[cue big getaway sequence by the Wild Bunch]

Jimmy M.: You know what, darling? I’m just gonna leave this laundry bag here, under the table for you, okey? Goodbye, sweetheart. You’re way too dangerous for me.


A closet homosexual who did a lot of cocaine

Patrick Bateman: He was into that whole Yale thing.

J. Morales: Yale thing?

Patrick Bateman: Yeah, Yale thing.

J. Morales: What whole Yale thing?

Patrick Bateman: Well, for one thing, I think he was probably a closet homosexual who did a lot of cocaine. That whole Yale thing.


David Van Patten: They don’t have a good bathroom to do coke in.

Craig McDermott: Are you sure that’s Paul Allen over there?

J. Morales: Yes. McDufus, I am.

Craig McDermott: He’s handling the Fisher account.

J. Morales: Lucky bastard.

Craig McDermott: Lucky Jew bastard.

Patrick Bateman: Jesus, McDermott, what does that have to do with anything?

Craig McDermott: I’ve seen that bastard sitting in his office, talking on the phone to the CEOs, spinning a fucking menorah.

Patrick Bateman: Not a menorah. You spin a dreidel.

Craig McDermott: Oh, my God. Bateman, do you want me to fry you up some fucking potato pancakes? Some latkes?

Patrick Bateman: No. Just cool it with the anti-Semitic remarks.

Craig McDermott: Oh, I forgot. Bateman’s dating someone from the ACLU.

J. Morales: The voice of reason… the boy next door.

[looks at restaurant bill]

J. Morales: Speaking of reasonable, only $570…

Envy, an opportunity

Narrator: This is Dylan Tate. Dylan was an antisocial socialist, a closet conversationalist, a clinical neurotic. Possessing an inimitable talent for the arts, Dylan had been afforded the opportunity to travel the world and live a comfortable lifestyle at his own expense something Conrad knew nothing about. Dylan Tate was the only personage of all Conrad’s acquaintances whom he admired and, to a bigger extent than he liked to admit to himself, envied.

Quote from the film The Longest Week