[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."
Limbo time, everybody! How low can you go?
Remind me to get a new pilot.
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.
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!
[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.
[As tourists are approaching St. Nicholas International Airport]