The content of this page was created by users. It has not been screened or verified by IMDb staff.
: You're hurting me. James Bond
: I thought that was the idea for tonight.
: Why do you persist in rescuing me, Mr. Bond? James Bond
: It's becoming quite a habit, isn't it, Contessa Teresa? Tracy
: Teresa was a Saint; I'm known as Tracy. James Bond
: Well, Tracy, next time play it safe and stand on 5. Tracy
: People who want to stay *alive* play it safe. James Bond
: Please, stay alive! At least for tonight. Tracy
: [Throws down her hotel room key and gets up to leave
] Come later.
[Blofeld wants to share his life with Tracy
] Ernst Stavro Blofeld
: Now, if you're very, very nice to me. I could make you my Countess. Tracy
: But I'm already a Countess. Ernst Stavro Blofeld
: Whereas if you displease me, I can promise you a very *different* estate.
: You're very sure of yourself, aren't you? Suppose I were to kill you for a thrill. James Bond
: I can think of something more sociable to do.
: So, you know your perfumes. What else do you know? James Bond
: A little about women. Tracy
: Think about me - as a woman you just bought. James Bond
: Who needs to buy?
: The only thing you need know about me is that I pay my debts. James Bond
: 20,000 francs is a lot of money. Tracy
: Maybe he didn't see me. Tracy
: I wouldn't go banco on that. James Bond
: Giving up bad habits, eh?
: Why are they looking for you? James Bond
: I suspect, they're trying to kill me.
: Her Majesty's Secret Service is still my job. Tracy
: But, there isn't anything you can do about your job at the moment, is there? James Bond
: No. Tracy
: Then why are you thinking about it now? James Bond
: I'm not. I'm thinking about us.
: Take me to the Alpine Room. Ernst Stavro Blofeld
: Are you unhappy here? Tracy
: I want to see the dawn. Ernst Stavro Blofeld
: So - poetic a pleasure. What were all the world's charms to mighty Paris, when he found that dawn in the arms of his Helen?
: Thy dawn, O Master of the World, thy dawn; For thee the sunlight creeps across the lawn, For thee the ships are drawn down to the waves, For thee the markets throng with myriad slaves, For thee the hammer on the anvil rings, For thee the poet of beguilement sings.