Soldier in the Rain (1963)
Slaughter: Let me tell you something, my friend: being a fat narcissist isn't easy.
Slaughter: After Clay slices his golf ball onto the green by standing at right angles to the green on Slaughter's instructions after slicing every ball he hits, the balls rolls onto the green and bumps into Slaughter's ball which is already there, and comes to rest against it with a dinging sound effect like when a cash register drawer is opened: Hoooo-weee!
Clay: What did I do right?
Frances McCoy: Oh, they're both together!
Slaughter: It's the mating season.
Clay: Boy, what a combination! You and I against the world. Maxwell, if we were in business together, you could retire when you're forty.
Slaughter: [Soberly] I'm already past 40... And, I'm not getting any younger. I'm in the twilight of my years. And every minute is precious. Every second counts. Of necessity, my very existence depends on prompt and immediate action. To wait is to ponder. To ponder is to waste. And Eustis, to waste is a mortal sin. You understand?
Slaughter: [Eustis is trying to talk Maxwell into leaving the Army, and joining him in lucrative civilian business deals] The world's outside that window, Eustis, and it scares me. It's awfully big out there.
Clay: You don't make no sense at all, Maxwell. You ain't scared of nothin'!
Slaughter: Oh, yes I am. You forget, I was a civilian once.
Clay: It'll be different now - you'll see.
Slaughter: I doubt it. Memories are still very strong... Childhood, growing up. "Fat boy on the block." I was always fat, Eustis. Thyroid condition. Fat baby, fat child...
Clay: Well, if you ask me, I'd say you're just kinda' plump, ya' know? *Pleasingly*.
Slaughter: I am *fat*, Eustis.
Clay: Come on, Maxwell, I'm askin' ya'. Please! Why, you're too smart to stay in the stupid Army.
Slaughter: I like the "stupid Army." It's my home... But it's not yours. So you go and make your millions, and I'll wish you joy.
Clay: Well, you can't stay in the Army forever, Maxwell.
Slaughter: I know. And when that day comes, I know *just* the place where we can retire.
Clay: You do? Where is it?
Slaughter: It's far... Far out in the Pacific. I saw it once, during the war. It's a little island - green, lush, tropical, with a long white beach shining in the sun... People are friendly, kind, generous, and round. And all the girls are slim and round, with bright eyes, and smiles that would melt your heart. Wait'll you see them: long legs, flat stomachs, and round, firm breasts that tilt up.
Clay: [Clearly captivated] "Up"?
Clay: Whew, fantastic... What do they wear?
Slaughter: Nothing... Absolutely *nothing*.
Pfc. Jerry Meltzer: [Arriving at the overturned car in which Miss Pepperdine and Sgt. Lenahan have crashed] It's just like they say: "Drinking and gasoline don't mix."
Bobby Jo Pepperdine: [Giggling, slightly drunk] Well, we ain't been drinkin' *gasoline*!
Slaughter: [At the carnival] One cotton candy, please.
Bobby Jo Pepperdine: Oh, I just LOVE watchin' 'em make it. Don't you?
Slaughter: [Waxing poetic] A gossamer fantasy - the stuff dreams are made of.
Bobby Jo Pepperdine: Boy, you sure talk funny!
Bobby Jo Pepperdine: [after Sgt. Slaughter has manhandled an annoying soldier] You know what you were like? You were like Randolph Scott on the late, late movies... A fat Randolph Scott!
Slaughter: [Bemused] "A fat Randolph Scott"?... Miss Pepperdine, you certainly have a faculty for searching out and selecting *just* the right compliment.
Bobby Jo Pepperdine: You know something, Mr. Slaughter? You ain't "fatty" any more. You're my baby boyfriend.
Bobby Jo Pepperdine: [Taking a break while on the golf course] You want another beer, too?
Slaughter: I'd love one, Miss Pepperdine.
Clay: What about your diet, Maxwell?
Slaughter: I have never ceased trying to lose weight, Eustis. But I'm not gonna' try to become a fanatic about it. I've done enough exercise this morning to burn up a car-load of calories. I can afford to pamper myself.
Slaughter: [On the phone, impersonating a doctor, a fictitious "Major Clawmute"] Is that all you'll be needing, Lieutenant?
Lt. Magee: Ah, as long as I've got you on the phone, there *is* one thing...
Slaughter: What's the poop, Lieutenant?
Lt. Magee: There's something on my big toe... It looks like a corn, but it's too small to be a corn.
Slaughter: Oh, yes, we call those "semi-corns." Hah! Pesky little things, aren't they?
Lt. Magee: Uh, anything I can do for it?
Slaughter: I suggest you just soak your feet in sauerkraut juice.
Lt. Magee: [Baffled] "Sauerkraut juice"?
Slaughter: [Grinning impishly] Morning and night. You get a small tub, and you fill it with sauerkraut juice, and you stand in it.
Lt. Magee: You *did* say "sauerkraut juice"?
Slaughter: Room temperature!
Lt. Magee: Check! Thank you, Major!
Slaughter: Thank YOU, Lieutenant.
Slaughter: [Looking at himself in a full-length mirror] You know, Eustis, all men are vain in one way or another. I happen to be a secret narcissist.
Clay: Really? Well, Maxwell, I thought you was nutty about girls as anybody else.
Slaughter: [Turning and giving Pvt. Clay a curious look] "Narcissist" is a ten-letter word meaning a person who likes to admire himself...
Slaughter: [turning back to look at himself in the mirror] Let me tell you something, my friend: being a fat narcissist isn't easy.