Clive Quotes in Licence to Kill (1989)

[a couple of divers arrive with Sharkey's corpse]

Milton Krest: Nice work, Clive.

Clive: Thanks, Mr. Krest. Guest what? His name was Sharkey.

Kenny Baxter: Tommy said I could have this comic.

Clive: Uh, gas, chips, comic books, $37.52.

[Kenny walks out the door with the comic book]

Clive: Hey, what's the matter with him? He some sort of retard or something?

[Tommy looks up at Clive but doesn't say anything]

Tommy Baxter: Keep the change.

Clive: Hey, you forgot your chips, sir.

[Tommy walks out the door without his chips]

Clive: Asshole.

Mr. Garrison: What is five times two?

[No response from the class]

Mr. Garrison: Now come on children, don't be shy, just give it your best shot.

[Clive raises his hand]

Clive: Twelve.

Mr. Garrison: OK, now let's try to get an answer from someone who's not a complete retard.

Clive: I'm gonna be a rude boy. Like my dad.

Karen Knowles: This could be a great time to bring out some reissues, maybe even a box set.

Clive: Oh, listen to you, sweetie! 20 years ago you were Neil Gaydon's doormat.

Karen Knowles: Well, 20 years ago you were a tea boy at Virgin, Clive. Came to you first.

Clive: Only because I own their catalog.

Bob Lawrence: I say, Clive, look.

Clive: What are they Bob?

Bob Lawrence: Sun worshippers. Probably've got nothing on.

Nurse Agnes: Relax. Keep your eyes fixed on this light. Keep them fixed. Before receiving the first degree of the seventh old ray, your mind must be white and blank. You are already feeling sleepy. Do you hear me?

Clive: Yes.

Nurse Agnes: Your mind is becoming quite blank. You feel that, don't you? Quite, quite blank.

Clive: Yes. Quite blank.

[Russell produces a stack of reports on the analysis of Dante's material]

Clive: And is there a conclusion?

Russell: Clive, there is a conclusion: drop it down the toilet.

Ned: And is that what you think, Russell?

Russell: Well, expert opinion has that this notebook was written very quickly... or very slowly. By a man, or a woman. The writer was right-handed, or he was left-handed. What I think? For "experts," there's no toilet deep enough.

Clive: Do you believe this nonsense?

Bartholomew "Barley" Scott Blair: I don't know. I believe it when I say it. But you've got to be there: you're taking a leak in some filthy public urinal and the man in the next stall leans across and asks you about God or Kafka or freedom versus responsibility; so you tell him because you know, because you're from the West. And before you've finished shaking your dick you think:"What a great country!" That's why I love them... and they're very fond of me.

Clive: [Upon catching sight of the photographs that show him shooting Manny] Well I guess there's no point in keeping up pre-tenses

Linda Pratman: Who are you?

Clive: I'm the boy's father

Linda Pratman: Garry Madison? But they said you died?

Clive: Surprise

Clive: [Indicating to Adam] He's doing great isn't he?

Linda Pratman: You Killed Manny

Clive: [Defensivley] He was bothering my kid

Linda Pratman: And Margaret... and Daddy?

Clive: You were always what I pictured as a mother who could care for my son... but mothers are a dime a dozen... I know I had ten growing up in those damed foster homes.

Clive: Hi honey I'm home.

Linda Pratman: You've been living here all along?

Clive: Your dumb waiter served many purposes.

Clive: Put the gun down, son.

Clive: You're pretty isolated out here, aren't ya? Walked for miles today, and barely saw any signs of civilization. No houses, nothing. Just trees and snow. Doesn't even seem to be any birds. I like it.

Woman: Excuese me. May I ask you a question? Do you think it's appropriate to dance in a graveyard?

Clive: Don't you think that we should dance while we can?

Woman: I think you should have more respect for the dead and especially for yourself.

Gypsy: Excuse me?

Woman: I didn't want to mention this, but you could be a very pretty girl, but that

[points at Gypsy's cleavage bearing ensemble]

Woman: would be inappropriate for any young lady. Especially for someone your size.

Gypsy: Look, Granny, I am a pretty girl, ok? Big is beautiful. Haven't you heard? And for the record, I don't give a flying fuck or a rolling rimjob what you or anyone else thinks of me. You're dismissed.

Clive: I don't think I ever want to have sex.

Gypsy: Mm-hmm

Clive: I'm serious.

Gypsy: Ok.

Clive: I just want someone to kiss, with big, soft, delicious lips. He'd have to smother me in old-school romance. I mean, candles and incense, Moët and Chandon, but only in a deserted castle in the south of France.

Gypsy: [releases pent-up laughter] Oh my god. You are so much more of a girl than I am.

Clive: Sex just seems so... messy.

Gypsy: Oh, no, no. Sex can be awesome. Not that I would remember, but...

Clive: Maybe you and I should try.

Gypsy: Yeah, well, I think I'm past my wayward-sex fag-hag test-fuck phase... but thanks for the offer. It's just "been there, done that."

Clive: At least I'd know for sure.

Gypsy: Honey, you're a queer, with a capital "Q."

Clive: Ok, you know what? Some of us don't care to be defined by our sexuality.

Gypsy: Ok, sorry. Can I ask you a question?

Clive: What?

Gypsy: Are you gay?

Clive: Yes! But I don't have anything in common with those people. I mean, like I give a rat's ass about Judy Garland or... Stonewall!

[Gypsy laughs]

Clive: Being queer is a very small part of me.

Gypsy: Yeah, whatever.