Britt EklandQuotes

Willow MacGreagor: A man who would come here of his own free will.

Librarian: A man who has come here with the power of a king by representing the law.

Willow MacGreagor: A man who would come here as a virgin...

Librarian: A man who has come here as a fool!

Francisco Scaramanga: Ah, Miss Goodnight.

Mary Goodnight: James!

James Bond: Aren't we a little overdressed, Goodnight?

Scaramanga: [shows Goodnight to her chair; Bond sits next to her as Nick Nack places a tray on the table; he lifts the tray's lid; As he sits down across from Bond, Goodnight takes a hasty look at the mushrooms and glances meaningfully at Bond.] I like a girl in a bikini. No concealed weapons. Miss Goodnight, please. Mr. Bond. Now, let's see what Nick Nack has for us. Ahh- mushrooms. )

Goodnight: The fried mushroom looks terribly interesting.

Bond: [Scaramanga subtly places several pieces of his Golden Gun on the table as Nick Nack pours wine] Yes, I noticed that- I'll get around to it later. Having fun in the sun, Goodnight?

Goodnight: [sarcastically; Scaramanga watches them] Yes- I could stay here forever.

Bond: [tastes the wine, Scaramanga gives him an inquiring look] Mmm, excellent- slightly reminiscent of a 34 Mouton.

Scaramanga: [nods, pulls out a gold-plated pen that doubles as the barrel of the Golden Gun; writes it down] Then I must add it to my cellar.

Bond: You live well, Scaramanga.

Scaramanga: [raises his glass in a toast; he and Goodnight drink, but Bond does not] At a million dollars a contract, I can afford to, Mr. Bond. You work for peanuts, a hearty well done from Her Majesty the Queen, and a pittance of a pension. Apart from that, we are the same. To us, Mr. Bond. We are the best.

Bond: [coldly; [w:Shit|useful four letter word; Scaramanga sets down his wine, his expression cold] There's a ]... and you're full of it. When I kill, it is on the specific orders of my government. And those I kill are themselves killers.

Scaramanga: [takes the various pieces of the Golden Gun and moves them into his lap, out of sight] Ha! Come, come, Mr. Bond, you disappoint me. You get as much fulfillment out of killing as I do, so why don't you admit it?

Bond: I admit killing you would be a pleasure.

Scaramanga: [smirks] Then you should have done that when you first saw me. But then, of course, the English don't consider it sporting to kill in cold blood, do they?

Bond: [reaches for his gun, but Scaramanga raises his Golden Gun, which he has surreptitiously put together.] Don't count on that.

Scaramanga: [quietly; Bond slowly moves his hand away from his pistol] ... I could have shot you down when you landed, but that would have been ridiculously easy. You see, Mr. Bond, like all great artists I want to create one indisputable masterpiece. The death of 007 -mano a mano, face to face- will be mine.

Bond: You mean, stuffed and displayed over your rocky mantelpiece?

Scaramanga: It's an amusing idea, but I was thinking more in terms of history. A duel between titans... my golden gun against your Walther PPK. Each of us a 50-50 chance.

Bond: Six bullets to your one?

Scaramanga: I only need one.

Bond: ...Sounds a bit old-fashioned, doesn't it? Pistols and dawn, that sort of thing?

Scaramanga: Indeed it is, Mr Bond. But it still remains the only true test, for gentlemen.

Bond: I doubt you'll qualify on that score. However, I accept. As soon as I finish this delicious lunch Nick Nack has prepared for us.

Jack Carter: [on the phone with Anna] I fancy you. I wish I was touching you - right now - making love to you. I want - to stroke you - and kiss you all over. Where are you?

Anna: I'm in the bedroom. My black underwear.

Jack Carter: The sexy, silk ones? Take your bra off.

Anna: Stop it, darling.

Jack Carter: Now. Go on. Now. Now, hold them - gently. Slowly. Imagine it's me. When we're in South America - we'll make love in the sun. Roll over. Make love again - and again.