David Scarpa

There's a purity to beautiful things that I've never been able to find in another human being.

I have no idea. But, if you can count your money you're not a billionaire.

I'm, uh, building a house in California. An exact replica of my imperial villa in Rome, down to the very last detail. But with flush toilets. Yes, the mountain may not have come to Muhammad, but it sure as hell came to me.

Well, for a moment, money loses all meaning and becomes as plentiful as air. Like flight. And then, it passes.

What's, uh, all this I see on TV with Gail paying the ransom in full? We both know she doesn't have it.

But she doesn't have the money. So, uh, what's going on? Come on. Where did she get it? Is she fucking somebody?

No, no, you couldn't begin to. So, spill it. What's going on? What's her game? Don't forget, Chase, I have a contract. And I'll enforce it.

When a man gets wealthy, he has to deal with the problems of freedom. All the choices he could possibly want. An abyss opens up. Well, I watched that abyss. I watched it ruin men, marriages, but most of all, it ruins the children.

A man who has children gives hostages to fortune.

Everything has a price. The great struggle in life is coming to grips with what that price is.

Pardon the laundry. I just see no point in paying $10 for room service to come up and launder my undershorts when I could do the same thing for just a few lira. And it's tax-deductible. Almost everything is if you know how to play it.

I had to focus on my mission, you understand? On my business. And... I couldn't be weighed down mentally with a family. You understand that, don't you, Paul?