Felix Bowers: I sowed my wild oats a long time ago. Been living off the crop ever since. Not very nutritious.

Miguel: [on assurance that a smuggling job's been completed] A friend left this, uh, note for you.
Felix Bowers: [flipping through the money in the envelope] Our friend didn't have very much to say, did he?
Miguel: What do you mean by that?
Felix Bowers: I mean he wasn't very generous, was he?
Miguel: There are many expenses; you know that as well as I do. Palms to be greased and people paid to turn the other way. It's getting harder every day.
Felix Bowers: Well, you tell that friend if he can't be a little more communicative, that this is the last trip.

Miguel: I'll talk to you. You're a reasonable man: your friend is a barbarian.
Felix Bowers: Tony. You gonna sit here and hear your friend called a barbarian?
Tony: Miguel, I forbid you to call this barbarian a barbarian.
Felix Bowers: [nods] You're a true friend.

Irena: Are you wanted by the police?
Felix Bowers: Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. Let's put it this way: if I *presented* myself to them, they would not *reject* me.

Irena: I'm no good. I'm all worn out. I've been passed from hand to hand. I've had to submit to things that nice young American boys couldn't conceive of in their wildest nightmares. I've lived among the ruins. Armies have marched over me.

Irena: I'm waiting for someone to touch me with kindness.

Irena: Sometimes you wonder what God had in mind when He invented the male sex.