Casanova

Grimani: You keep running and I'll keep waiting ... neither one of us can have her.

Grimani: She was mine first, that's what everyone forgets. I was with her first, and you just strode in. How did you ... I'm asking you ... how did you make her love you, what did you do?

Casanova: Now you see the puzzle is, if I were married to Henriette, and separated by hundreds of miles, I'd do anything to be with her. To hell with the job, I'd resign, I'd walk barefoot. Yet you seem decidedly static, why is that? I don't suppose you're having problems? In the marital bed, perhaps? Dare I suggest on your side of the bed. Bit of trouble with the old... [whistles] If you need advice, I'm very good. Grimani: How could you possibly advise me? You're a con-man, I'm an ambassador. I have a wife, you have whores. I have children, you have a bastard. Casanova: Look, if you want a measuring contest I'll drop my pants right now and I'll win. Casanova: You sound more in love with men than women. Casanova: Men I understand. I know what men think about, all day long. Those stupid little inches, driving you mad every waking hour. I know exactly what's going on in your head. Is it big? Is it big enough? Is it hard enough, will it work every time on demand; cause that's the only thing, that is the only bastard question - am I any good in bed? Is every other man better than me? Is every other man bigger and faster and slower and longer and deeper and harder - what am I doing wrong? How do I find out, cause no one ever talks about it, no one ever says. How can I ever find out what I'm doing wrong? [pause] Ask me.

(When asked why he rented a room to a prostitute in London). Casanova: Rocco, let me tell you about the English. They like rain. They like gravy. They like warm beer. Masturbation. Romantic fiction. And above all else they like scandal. I am the Italian with the whore, they've never seen anything like it.