Turner: I'll tell you this: the only performance that makes it, that really makes it, that makes it all the way, is the one that achieves madness. Right? Am I right? You with me?
[Chas flicks his cigarette ash onto a rug]
Turner: That rug's over two hundred years old.
Chas: Yeah, it looks it.
[on the intercom outside as Chas rings the front door]
Pherber: "Leave a message after the beep. Beep, beep, BEEP!
Chas: [to Mick Jagger] You're a comical little geezer. You'll look funny when you're fifty.
Pherber: I don't recognize your voice.
Chas: Well, I've been away, haven't I?
Pherber: And I don't recognize your face.
Chas: You should see my motor.
Pherber: [looks at Chas quizzically]
Chas: My motor. Had an argument with a cement wall on the way over. Goodbye the Ferrari.
Turner: [reading from a book] "The old man was called, in the language of Persia, Hassani Saba, and his people were called the Hashishi. He had caused a valley between two mountains to be enclosed, and turned into a garden, so large and beautiful his people believed it was Paradise. And there was a fortress at the entrance, strong enough to resist all the world. Now the old man caused those of his young men whom he had chosen to be his Hashishi, his assassins, to be given a potion which cast them into a deep sleep, and to be carried into the garden, so that when they awoke, they believed they were in Paradise. And there were damsels and young girls there, who dallied with them to their hearts' content, so that they had what young men desire. Thus it was that when the old man decided to send one of his assassins upon a mission, such as to have a prince slain, he would send for one of these youths and say, 'Go thou and kill, and when thou returnest, my angels will bear thee into Paradise; and should'st thou die, nevertheless, I will send my angels to carry thee back into Paradise.'"
Turner: They enjoyed their work...
Turner: We've gone too far. He means we haven't really got any where.
Pherber: He means we've got to go much further out.
Turner: We have to go much further, much further back! And faster.
Chas: [on the phone] What a freak show.
Tony Farrell: Well, where are you then?
Chas: Oh, you know, on the left.
Tony Farrell: Oh, yeah. Yeah.
Chas: It's a right piss-hole. Long hair. Beatniks. Druggers. Free love. Foreigners, You name it.
Pherber: He wants to know why your show is a bigger turn-on than his ever was!
Chas: How should I know?
The Lawyer: It is alleged, by the prosecution, that the dividend of 15%, which was declared on the non-voting B shares, was, in deed, fraudulently designed solely to expedite this admittedly bold, but in no way unethical, merger. I say merger, gentlemen, not take-over!
The Lawyer: Words still have meanings, even in our days of the computer.
Harry Flowers: He's a nut case, like all artists. But, I can rely on him.
The Lawyer: Now, look here, I'm Mr. Fraser's Counsel and I warn you...
Chas: I know that. Now, shut your hole, Mr. Counsel!
Harry Flowers: Three grand a week that boy's grossin' - or I'm a Communist.
Chas: He's a lyin' slag! He's a grass and you know it and I know it!
Joey Maddocks: Harry Pervert Flowers! Right here! Right now! I'd give a grand!
Joey Maddocks: But, Harry, I'm still a bit worried - about my future.
Harry Flowers: Worried? That I will not allow, my son. Anyone worries you, you tell me about it. You're on the firm now, Joey! One of me own! United we stand. Divided we're lumbered!
Harry Flowers: Took over? No, Joey. The word is merged. You was merged, my son.
[raises a glass]
Harry Flowers: To old England.
Harry Flowers: The world's a dodgy place, my friends, I can't help that. But, we've got progress. Look at the Yanks!
Dennis: The new world.
Dennis: You know what they're going to call us? They'll call us - gangsters! It'll be goodbye to business, gentlemen.
Moody: We'll be as popular as Hitler.
Harry Flowers: I never sent him! It was me told him, not to go! Don't get your personal relations mixed up in my business. I told him!
Dennis: Told him? That's a joke. Like telling a mad dog who to bite, that is!
Lucy: You've got to get out of the British kingdom. And to go back to France.
Turner: That's really insanity.
Turner: You shoot too much of that shit, Pherber.
Pherber: Too much vitamin B12, has never hurt anybody.
Turner: I don't want anybody, anybody washed up cabaret artiste in my beautiful basement.
Turner: There's been a mistake. You can't have the room.
Turner: It's not for rent.
Chas: What a minute. The lady's just said...
Turner: The Lady said? I don't tell her everything. She's just my secretary. I've got a lot of work to do. I'm under a lot of pressure.
Turner: Talk about a performer. Of course, I'm not telling you anything you don't know. Am I, old man? You can't stay here old man. I'm not in the mood.
Chas: Why don't you - play us a tune, pal?
Turner: I don't like music.
Chas: Comical little geezer. You'll look funny when your fifty.
Turner: If you were me, what would you do?
Chas: I don't know. It depends. It depends who you are. So, I don't know.
Turner: Who I am? Do you know who you are?
Lorraine: He was very famous. When I was little he was a chartbuster.
Chas: They come and they go. Pop stars. He had a following. I never fancied his stuff myself.
Lorraine: He had three number ones, two number twos and a number four.
Chas: Is that why he's got a secretary?
Chas: That foreign bird, you know, not the skinny one, the other one.
Lorraine: Pherber's his lover, mate. She cohabits him. She is, in deed. Their love story's famous!
Chas: Can I use the blower up here.
Turner: We haven't got a blower up here.
Pherber: Huh! What in God's name has he done to his hair?
Turner: He's blown it.
Chas: Yeah, well, that's it dear. I got to ring my agent again.
Turner: I fancy the red.
Chas: No. No. The red was dye.
Chas: Dyed. Red.
Pherber: Dyed it? Dead!
Chas: Red! Red!
Turner: Van Gogh, eh?
Chas: No. No. This is the normal.
Chas: Yeah. I was just havin' a laugh. Havin' a laugh, you see, with my act. With my image. You know what I mean?
Turner: Yeah, I know exactly what you mean.
Chas: I thought you would. Eh, he reckons, my agent, that, time for a change.
Turner: It was time for a change.
Turner: Are these photographs for narcissistic or publicity purposes?
Turner: [singing] Woke up this morning, somebody knockin' on my door, Woke up this morning, I said, "Hello, Satan. I believe it's time to go".
Turner: We push the buttons. He's the horror show. He's an old pro. He can take it. He takes it! He dishes it out too! Bet your sweet fucking life he does. He's a mean bastard.
Chas: I'm the Lone Ranger.
Turner: [to Chas] I know how you do it! I know a thing or two about performing, my boy. I can tell you.
Pherber: He had the gift too, once upon a time. You should have seen him ten years ago.
Turner: Time for your new image. It's totally different.
Pherber: Now we're getting somewhere!
Chas: America's a blindin' place.
Pherber: His mother is a 1,000 years old. Imagine yourself being a 1,000 years younger.
Pherber: I'm gonna take you down on the riverside. I might powder you. I might polish you. I might make you shiny like a mirror! You just don't know.
Pherber: Did you never have a female feel?
Chas: No! Never! I feel like a man! A man - all the time.
Pherber: That's awful. That's what's wrong with you, isn't it?
Chas: What do you mean?
Pherber: A man's man's world.
Pherber: How do you think Turner feels like, huh?
Chas: I don't know. He's weird. And you're weird. You're kinky!
Pherber: He's a man! Male and female man! And he feels like me.
Chas: No! No he doesn't!
Pherber: He's stuck! Stuck!
Pherber: Why? Because he's lost his demons, that's why. Yeah, he thought he had it under control. Juggling all those balls - millions of them. Until one day he was looking at his favorite mirror, admiring his image, see. And when suddenly he saw, a little clearly, it was just a beautiful, little, freaky, stripy, beast, darling. So, he thought, maybe, maybe its time for a change, he thought. Then, immediately, as he watched, the image faded. His demon had abandoned him! Pluff! He was gone! He's still tryin' to figure out whether he wants it back.
Turner: [singing] Weren't you at the Coke convention back on nineteen sixty-five, You're the misbred, grey executive I've seen heavily advertised. You're the great, gray man whose daughter licks policemen's buttons clean...