You're no messiah. You're a movie of the week. You're a fucking t-shirt, at best.
Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
Listen to me very carefully. There are three ways of doing things around here: the right way, the wrong way, and the way that I do it. You understand?
In Vegas, everybody's gotta watch everybody else. Since the players are looking to beat the casino, the dealers are watching the players. The box men are watching the dealers. The floor men are watching the box men. The pit bosses are watching the floor men. The shift bosses are watching the pit bosses. The casino manager is watching the shift bosses. I'm watching the casino manager. And the eye-in-the-sky is watching us all.
What’s in the box? What’s in the fucking box?
I lost control? Look at you, you're fucking walking around like John Barrymore! A fucking pink robe and a fucking cigarette holder? I lost control?
Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.
Detective. Detective. DETECTIVE! You're looking for me.
This guy could fuck up a cup of coffee.
This guy's methodical, exacting, and worst of all, patient.