Along comes Mr. Whitey, and when he's finished with that net

it looks like a kiddies' scissors class

has cut it up for a paper doll.

You got city hands, Mr. Hooper.

You been counting money all your life.

I don't need this. I don't need this working-class-hero crap.

You're not going to do this aboard the ship are you, Mr. Quint?

Maybe I should go alone.

It's my party. It's my charter.

Yeah, it's your charter, it's your party. It's my vessel.

You're on board my vessel, I'm mate, master, pilot

and I'm captain.

I'll take him for ballast, Chief.

You got him.

"Straight-jet, killing lance.

"Tail rope, eye splice, M-1, handy billy, pliers, irons..."

HOOPER: Sample bottles, dye marker, flares, safety float

temperature gauge, spear guns, SMG...

What are you? Some kind of half-assed astronaut?

(QUINT LAUGHING)