Sanders Quotes in The Man from U.N.C.L.E. (2015)

Napoleon Solo: You told me this was going to be a simple extraction.

Sanders: It should have been. I didn't ask you to light up half of East Berlin.

Napoleon Solo: They were waiting for me.

Sanders: Don't flatter yourself, they follow everybody.

Napoleon Solo: One of them who was waiting for me was barely human. You should've seen him run.

Sanders: Grow a spine, Solo. Contrary to what you think, we are not in with the haberdashery business.

Napoleon Solo: I don't think you understand. He tore the back off my car.

Sanders: Remind me, Solo, how long was your prison sentence. You owe me five more years. Now, I know that you've been taking care of yourself on the side. Wetting your beak, so to speak. We don't pay you enough to be able to put truffles in your rizzoto, Solo. But don't ever make the calamitous error of mistaking my deliberate short sightedness for blindness. Now you'll report for duty tomorrow morning nine a.m. sharp. And with a better attitude.

Sanders: [In a public restroom, unzipping his fly to use the urinal] What I'm about to feed you, Solo, might taste a little bitter. Nevertheless, you're gonna have to swallow it.

Sanders: You punched me because I'm gay?

Jenko: What? No, I... oh, come on. I punched him and... he turned out to be gay afterwards.

Sanders: [conducting interrogation] Now you listen to me very carefully, Mr. 47, or whatever the fuck your name is! There's a lot of ways that this can end and that's entirely up to you. But you can be goddamn certain that this thing is not gonna end the way that you thought it was, because the last time I checked, you're locked in here with me, and I'm the one with the gun!

Agent 47: No, Mr. Sanders. You are locked in here with me...

Annie Bean: [interrupting gearhead talk] And the South will rise again.

Sanders: God! you own that too?

Yul Perrkins a.k.a. Charles Bronson: You know what? It's a rental, actually.

Sanders: Aren't they all?

Polchek: Nice shootin there. You just shot yourself a dead man!

Sanders: I shot the shit out of him!

Sanders: Brown, you're a gentleman! You've got breeding! You must have faith!

Brown: Why?

Sanders: Why? Why in Heaven's name, man, what do you believe in?

Brown: Would it really interest you? Oh, a lot of things. A good horse, steak and kidney pudding, a fellow named George Brown, the asinine futility of this war, being frightened, being drunk enough to be brave and brave enough to be drunk, the feel of the sea when you swim, the taste and strength of wine, the loveliness of women, the splendid, unspeakable joy of killing Arabs, the smell of incense and bacon, the weight of a fist, an old pair of shoes, a toothache, triunph...

Sanders: STOP!

Brown: All right.

Sanders: [after telling the Sergeant that Brown has left] He wrote something in my Bible... for you.

The Sergeant: Deserted, hunh? Insubordinate swine! Bilged out! Left us like a rat when we needed every man! Why didn't you tell me? You're a party to this, you know! Well, get your rifle and get out of here. You take his place.

Sanders: [With a crazed look in his eyes] Yes, Yes, that's it, Sergeant! Yes!

The Sergeant: [Reading Brown's note] 'Sorry, Sergeant, but Quincannon was right. He knocked one off for Jock. I'll get another for Matlow. Taking a long swing to come around behind them. Fine moon tonight. Should be good hunting. Yours contritely, George Brown. P.S. Not a good name, but the best I could think of when I enlisted.'

John Hallston: [takes gloves off, enters office] How could this happen? How could this possibly happen?

Sanders: I don't know, sir.

Sanders: [throws glove in Sanders' face] Of course you don't know! Charles is gone, his whole damn crew is gone! And Malcolm's disappeared - he probably knows where he is. I bet he's taking my mark right this second!

Harrison: He wouldn't, sir.

John Hallston: [shouting] And what makes you so sure?

Sanders: 'Cause you still have his girl!

Sanders: Where'd ya get the hat?

Hildy Johnson: Hey! I paid twelve bucks for that hat.

The Duchess of Brighton: 300 pounds a day. I can keep my home now.

Sanders: Your plane, your grace.

The Duchess of Brighton: Tell it, it can go without me.

Sanders: Is everything in order?

The Duchess of Brighton: Eh, well not all together, I'm afraid.

Sanders: Your grace is traveling on Flight 905 to Miami.

B.O.A.C. Officer: The, Duchess of Brighton, oh yes, it's under D. Ha-ha. Would that be it?

The Duchess of Brighton: [to Sanders] He does mix his tenses, though, would it, was it. It is.

Airport Director: [Talking on the phone] No, I want to speak to Dawkins.

Sanders: [Walks into the Director's office] Excuse me, sir.

Airport Director: Shhh!

[Talking on the phone]

Airport Director: Dawkins? Airport Director, here. I want the royal lounge made ready by 10 hundred hours for the Russian delegation. Oh, about 20 of them, I think. Lay out caviar, champagne and cake. Oh, some kind of Russian-looking cake. Well, how should I know what makes a cake look Russian! Use your imagination, Dawkins.

Sanders: May I speak to you sir? Its extremely urgent.

Airport Director: [Still talking on the phone] Russians take-off is 10:25. By 10:45, the lounge must be ready for the American delegation. Oh, sandwiches, coffee and bourbon. Their take-off is 11 hundred hours.

[Hangs up phone]

Airport Director: Yes, what is it?

Sanders: It's my VIP list, sir. I thought perhaps you might know who Mr. Len Mason is?

Airport Director: Why should I? Your VIPs, your own pigeon, Sanders. I've got my own to look after. And they're a great deal more important than your film stars and oil magnets!

Bryant: I didn't join The Front until a few years ago.

Sanders: How did you enlist?

Bryant: I didn't, sir. I earned my place.

Sanders: Before I left central, they all told me to keep heading North. And the further I am up this road, I know I'm far from one battle and into a new one. I should thank her for what she did for me. She wanted to take me from harm's way and for a while I lived away from all of it. In the fields. She said they were scorched blades all leaning to the city. It's the dark road that cuts through the middle of our hearts. There's no greater fury than what sounds below our feet. And it clutches at our heels. We can't reach it because the sky burns us too.