Mortdecai

Mortdecai:
I had no idea I was so deep in Her Majesty's hole!

Mortdecai:
Have you heard the expression, "open your balls"?

Jock:
No, sir.

Mortdecai:
It made me feel dirty.

Mortdecai:
Your mother and father only knew each other for a day, and money changed hands.

Mortdecai:
...kissing a man without a mustache is like eating an egg without salt.

Johanna:
Uhh, don't point that thing at me.

Jock:
Told ya!

Martland:
[to Mortdecai] What is that infernal thing on your lip?

Martland:
The fact that you're as drunk as a fiddler's b*tch in no way obviates the fact that you very nearly caused an international incident. A man your age has no excuse for looking or behaving like a fugitive from a home for alcoholic music hall artistes.

Mortdecai:
I will have you know that I am not an alcoholic. I am a drunk, and there is a vast difference.

Maurice:
[to Martland] Of all sad words of tongue or pen the saddest are these "It might have been".

[first lines]

Mortdecai:
As you may well know, I am many things. An arts dealer, an accomplished fencer, fair shot with most weapons. I am loved and respected by all who know me - slightly. But I have always felt as if there's something missing, you see. Some final piece of my personal puzzle. I needed something bold, distinctive. [his cocktail arrives] Ah, thank you. The work of art with which I could declare to the heavens, I am Lord Charlie Mortdecai. And this is a little bit of magic is my mustache...

Mortdecai:
[upon viewing a murder victim] Ugh. I think this women has need of a chiropractor.

Martland:
Bronwen Fellworthy, Oxford art restorer. Did you know here?

Mortdecai:
Slightly. I do recall a vague memory of her having once, involuntarily, one would hope, releasing a fart of such frightening power and timbre that I feared she had done herself a horrible mischief.

Mortdecai:
[calling through the door] Johanna. Are you all right in there, darling? It is I, Charlie... Your husband.

Johanna:
What is it?

Mortdecai:
Oh, moon of my delight. This is your own personalized Sheik of Araby who seeks admission into your tent. I have come to carry you off to the burning desert, and work my greasy will upon you under the tropical stars. Send your camel to bed, damn it!

Johanna:
[sighs] My Sheik, does this mean you have excommunicated that mustache of the Prophet?

Mortdecai:
...I'll trim it... Darling. I am embarking on a very dangerous escapade, from which I may not well return. And it is customary in these situations for, you know, a proper send-off. Quick session of congress. Sink the Bismarck, if you will. And by the way, did I mention it is a matter of national security.

Mortdecai:
Mmm. [forces his way in]

Spinoza:
[spewing at Mortdecai] What's the matter, you one book short of a library?

Mortdecai:
I should probably mention, this is not the first time I shot Jock. [shifts to skeet shooting scene]

Mortdecai:
What should I do now?

Jock:
Run, sir.

Mortdecai:
Again?

Jock:
Yes!

Mortdecai:
[receiving his room key] So, all I must do is show up, and I'm presented with a credit card. No wonder your country's in financial ruin.

Mortdecai:
Oh, how I long for the rain and indifference of Europe.

Mortdecai:
Quite a conundrum, this. I shall need a moment to thing this through, I'm afraid.

Johanna:
Yes, do. Do think. Just bear in mind, I'm standing on a loo, holding a dead man's Goya.

Mortdecai:
Your mother and father only met once. And money changed hands.

Dmitri:
[punches him]

Mortdecai:
Probably less than a 20. And they say she was dressed as a man at the time.

Martland:
Can you think of a good reason why I shouldn't arrest you right now?

Mortdecai:
I eschew discomfort?

Mortdecai:
Oh, my darling, I tried desperately to be unfaithful to you, I really did. But I just couldn't do it.

Johanna:
It's a terrible moment when you finding yourself falling in love with your own spouse, isn't it?

Mortdecai:
Now that is the look that softens every bone in my body, except one.

Mortdecai:
[arrives hotel] Jock. Dear, sweet, sperm-heavy Jock. Behold this America, this new colossus, this fair land of the free!

Mortdecai:
[entering hotel lobby, sees girls on bikinis] What kind of hell-place is this? I feel as though we've made a wrong turn and arrived on the set of a pornographic film. [asks hotel clerk] Have we taken a wrong turn and arrived on the set of a pornographic film?

Hotel Clerk:
Checking in?

Mortdecai:
I am Mortdecai, Lord of Silverdale. I should like to request a bucket of ice, "Do Not Disturb" sign, and a bulldozer.

Hotel Clerk:
- Checking in?

Jock:
- Yeah, we're checking in.

Mortdecai:
I suspect I may need to redecorate.

Hotel Clerk:
Room 326, overlooks the pool.

Mortdecai:
[holds hotel door card] So all I must do is show up, and I'm presented with a credit card. No wonder your country's in financial ruin.

Hotel Clerk:
Do you need help with your bags?

Mortdecai:
No, I do not need help with my bags. I have a f***ing manservant. Strange country.

Mortdecai:
[calls hotel front desk] Hello, American? The rooms here are made of cement. Very good in case of an air raid. But for those of us trying to get a bit of rest after an arduous crossing, a bit of an acoustic nightmare. So would you please stop grunting like wildebeests and allow me to get some sleep, man? Please! Please!

Jock:
Sorry, sir. We'll try and keep it down.

Mortdecai:
Good God, Jock! Put that thing away, man!

“Spenoza I did not come here to discuss my relationship with my mother nor my relationship to your mother”