"Hi, Room Service, this is Room 1717. I would like a double-thick roast beef sandwich medium rare on rye bread with mustard on the top, mayonnaise on the bottom, and a coffee hot fudge sundae with a large bottle of diet anything. You got that? Yeah, Room 1717. Oh, and Room Service, would you put it in the hall outside the door. I mean, don’t bring it in or knock on the door because I’m just putting my little one to sleep. Thank you."

"It so happens, Mr. Simon, that Howard has had discussions with Leonard Bernstein about the possibility of conducting an avalanche ... in E flat."

"I love those old Ventegums."

"Eunice!? This is a person named Eunice?"

"...not as much as I am in the metamorphic or sedimentary rock categories. I mean I can take your igneous rocks or leave them. I relate primarily to micas, quartz, feldspar. You can keep your pyroxenes, magnetites and coarse-grained plutonics as far as I'm concerned..."

"Austin Pendleton — Frederick Larrabee"

"Kenneth Mars — Hugh Simon"

"Madeline Kahn — Eunice Burns"

"Ryan O'Neal — Dr. Howard Bannister"

"Barbra Streisand — Judy Maxwell"

"A screwball comedy. Remember them?"

"I will get to the bottom of this if it takes me the rest of my life, which may end at any minute!"

"Do you see this yellow pill? You know what it's for? It's to remind me to take this blue pill!"

"Tell them to bring straight jacket! In assorted sizes!"

"You've made me smash my Life Savers."

"I know how you feel, mister. I hate it when my igneous rocks are even touched!"

"There is no Hans. There is only me, Fritz."

"You will tell her you are smitten with her, that you had followed her all evening, and you will make passionate love to her."

"Snakes, as you know, live in mortal fear of tile."

"Don't you dare strike that brave unbalanced woman!"

"Who is that dangerously unbalanced woman?"

"This is inexcusable. You can't come in here uninvited."

"For God's sake, don't shoot me, I'm part Italian."

"The slight mistake, Mesdames and Messieurs, is in the so-called identity of these alleged colleagues. I don't know who he is, but she is definitely not herself."

"I used to send Marino back home with a piece of what I made. Not a big piece, but what did they know? They were 1,500 miles away, and I don't know anyone who can see that far."

"[Chewing out Sam in the Nevada desert] Get this through your head, you Jew motherfucker, you! You only exist out here because of ME! That's the only reason! Without me, you, personally - every fucking wiseguy skell around will take a piece of your fucking Jew ass! THEN where you gonna go?! You're fucking warned! Don't ever go over my fucking head again, you motherfucker, you!"

"[Chewing out Sam in the Nevada desert] You said I'm bringing heat on you?! I gotta listen to people because of your fucking shit?! You're ordering me out?! You better get your own fucking army, pal!"

"[Watching the FBI plane overhead while golfing] What the fuck is this? Where's this fucking guy gonna land, in the fairway? They're fucking agents, Frankie, look at this! $100 for whoever hits the plane."

"You know, I don't wanna bring this up, but you've been treating a lot of people with a lot of disrespect, even your own wife."

"You know I'm trying to put something really big together out here. You know what I'm talking about, huh? You know! If you're acting like this now, how can I depend on you?"

"I think that you've gotten the wrong impression about me. I think, in all fairness, I should explain to you exactly what it is that I do. For instance, tomorrow morning I'll get up nice and early, take a walk down over to the bank, walk in and see and uh, if you don't have my money for me, I'll crack your fucking head wide open in front of everybody in the bank. And just about the time that I'm coming out of jail, hopefully, you'll be coming out of your coma. And guess what? I'll split your fucking head open again. 'Cause I'm fucking stupid. I don't give a fuck about jail. That's my business. That's what I do. And we know what you do, don't we, Charlie? You fuck people out of money and get away with it! Hey, you fat Irish prick, you put my fucking money to sleep! You go get my money or I'll put your fucking brain to sleep!"

"Charlie M? Charlie M?! YOU MADE ME POP YOUR FUCKING EYE OUTTA YOUR HEAD TO PROTECT THAT PIECE OF SHIT?! CHARLIE M?! YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKER!"

"Listen to me, Anthony. I got your head in a fucking vice. I'll squash your fucking head like a grapefruit if you don't give me a name. Don't make me have to do this, please. Don't make me be a bad guy, come on."

"[about Anthony Dogs' interrogation] To be truthful with you, I had to admire this fucking guy. He was one of the toughest Irishmen I ever met. This son-of-a-bitch was tough. For two days and two fucking nights, we beat the shit out of this guy. I mean, we even stuck ice picks in his balls. But he never talked. In the end, I had to put his fucking head in a vice."

"But I knew how to keep the bosses happy. Whenever they gave me little jobs to do, you know, to send a message, I would carry things out to a tee. Like the time Tony Dogs, who's supposed to be the new maniac tough guy in town, shot up one of Remo's bars. Here's a fucking guy, kills two of Remo's guys and a poor fucking waitress who's just working on her night off of all things. I mean, this guy's just begging to be made an example of."

"They had so much fucking money in there, you could build a house outta stacks of $100 bills. And the best part was that upstairs, the board of directors didn't know what the fuck was going on. I mean, to them, everything looked on the up-and-up, right? Wrong! The guys inside the counting room were all slipped in there to skim the joint dry. They'd do short counts, they'd lose fill slips. They'd even take cash right outta the drop boxes. And it was up to this guy, right here, standing in front of about 2 million dollars, to skim the cash off the top without anybody getting wise — the IRS, or anybody. Now, notice how in the count room, nobody ever seems to see anything. Somebody's always looking the other way. Now look at these guys. They look busy, right? They're counting money. Who'd want to bother them? I mean, God forbid they should make a mistake and forget to steal. Meanwhile, you're in and you're out, past the jack-off guard, who gets an extra C note a week just to watch the door. I mean, it's routine, business as usual — in, out, hello, goodbye — and that's all there is to it. Just another fat fuck, walking out of the casino with a suitcase. Now that suitcase was going straight to one place: right to Kansas City, which was as close to Las Vegas as the Midwest bosses could go without getting themselves arrested. That suitcase was all the bosses ever wanted, and they wanted it every month."

"[About the bosses] These old greaseballs may not look it, but believe me, these are the men who secretly control Las Vegas, because they managed the Teamsters Union. The Teamsters Union was who you had to go to in order to borrow money to build a casino. And no one got approved for a loan from the Teamster's pension fund unless these guys in the room knew they were going to get their little suitcases."

"[introducing Ace] He made his first bet when he was 15 years old, and he always made money. But he didn't bet like you or me. You know, having some fun with it, shit like that. He'd bet like a fucking brain surgeon. He had to know everything, this guy. He'd find the kind of inside stuff nobody else knew, and that's what he'd put his money on. Even back home, years ago, when we were first hanging out together, he'd know if the quarterback was on coke, if his girlfriend was knocked up. He'd get the wind velocity so he could judge the field goals. He even figured out the different bounce you got off the different kinds of wood they used on college basketball courts, y'know? He'd be working on this shit day and night. There was nothing about a game he was going to bet that he didn't know. Season after season, the prick was the only guaranteed winner that I ever knew, but he was so serious about it all, I don't think he ever enjoyed himself. But that's just the way he was."

"Got a lot of holes in the desert. And a lot of problems are buried in those holes. Except you gotta do it right. I mean, you gotta have the hole already dug before you show up with a package in the trunk. Otherwise, you're talking about a half hour or 45 minutes of digging. And who knows who's gonna be coming along in that time? Before you know it, you gotta dig a few more holes; you could be there all fucking night!"

"The town will never be the same. After the Tangiers, the big corporations took it all over. Today, it looks like Disneyland. And while the kids play cardboard pirates, Mommy and Daddy drop the house payments and Junior's college money on the poker slots. In the old days, dealers knew your name, what you drank, what you played. Today, it's like checking into an airport, and if you order room service, you're lucky if you get it by Thursday. Today, it's all gone. You got a whale show up with four million in a suitcase, and some 25-year-old hotel school kid is gonna want his social security number. After the Teamsters got knocked out of the box, the corporations tore down practically every one of the old casinos. And where did the money come from to rebuild the pyramids? Junk bonds. But in the end, I wound up right back where I started. I could still pick winners, and I could still make money for all kinds of people back home. And why mess up a good thing? And that's that."

"The word was out. The bosses had enough of Nicky. They had enough. How much were they gonna take? So they made an example of him and his brother. They buried them while they were still breathing. They had other ideas for me."

"No matter what the feds or the papers might have said about my car-bombing, it was amateur night - and you could tell. Whoever it was, they put the dynamite under the passenger side. But what they didn't know - what nobody outside the factory knew - was that that model car was made with a metal plate under the driver's seat. It's the only thing that saved my life. The bombing was never authorized, but I suspect I know who lit the fuse. [cut to Nicky meeting up with his gang in the cornfield] And so did the powers that be."

"After Ginger took off, she wasn't much help to anybody. She found some pimps, lowlifes, druggies and bikers in L.A.. And in a few months, they went through all the money and all the jewels. After they found her body, I hired a private doctor to do another autopsy. He said they gave her a hot dose. In the end, all she had left was $3,600 in mint-condition coins."

"After all the threats and all the bullshit, it turned out Ginger didn't tell 'em anything. But by then, the Feds didn't need her, anyway. They had all the pieces they needed. And everybody began to tumble, one after the other... just like dominoes. Between Piscano complaining on a wire. Between Nicky, Ginger, me and my license... paradise... we managed to really fuck it all up."