Kp: Forget it. Let’s just get on with the interview. Why did you get into acting?
G: I'm an angel. I kill newborns while their mamas watch. I turn cities into salt. And occasionally, when I feel like it, I tear little girls apart. And from now till kingdom come, the only thing you can count on in your existence is never understanding why.

Kp: What the fuck?
ST: Are you having trouble understanding me, Jerome?

Kp: What?
ST: Do I make myself clear, Jerome?

Kp: Why are you calling me Jerome?
ST: Do I make myself clear, Epstein?

Kp: What? My name isn’t “Epstein” either.
ST: Then you've got a problem, don't you Epstein?

Kp: Oh my God. Listen, I thought we could talk a little about acting, maybe talk about dancing. You dance in all your movies, right? I’m a dancer, too. Let’s talk about that.
ST: Hey, Fred Astaire, you tryin' to tell me something?

Kp: No, I’m just trying to relate.
P: I'm not like you. You're nothing. That's something you ought not to forget. You're not a person. You're nothing.

Kp: I’m nothing?
MS: You're like a worm on a hook, trying to wiggle free.

Kp: I don’t understand.
VC: You're a cantaloupe!

kp: I’m a cantaloupe. What are you?
G: I've turned rivers into blood, kings into cripples, cities into salt. So I don't think that I have to explain myself to you.

Kp: You’re insane.
VC: Come again?

Kp: You would need two promotions to be an asshole.
ST: You would need three promotions to be an asshole.

Kp: Good one.
DH: Can I confess something? I tell you this as an artist, I think you'll understand. Sometimes when I'm driving on the road at night I see two headlights coming toward me. Fast. I have this sudden impulse to turn the wheel quickly, head-on into the oncoming car. I can anticipate the explosion; the sound of shattering glass; the flames rising out of the flowing gasoline…