[upon reaching the top of the tower and overlooking the city]
Ken: [to himself] I like it here.
Ray: See, Ken, this is the kind of hotel Harry should have put us in. A five-star, with prostitutes in it.
Harry: [to Ken] Did I ask you to be his psychiatrist? No. I asked you to fucking kill him.
Ken: We're not staying here getting pissed. We are quietly sightseeing, like he says, and awaiting his call to see what we do next.
Ray: This is my vote on what we should do. We give it another day, two days, max. Then we check the papers again, and if there's still nothing in them, we phone him and say, 'Harry, thank you for the trip to Bruges, it's been
very nice, all the old buildings and that, but we're coming back to London now, and hide out in a proper country, where it isn't all just fucking chocolates'.
Canadian Guy: Fucking unbelievable.
Ray: What's fucking unbelievable?
Canadian Guy: Are you talking to me?
Ray: [to himself] He pauses, even though he should just hit the cunt, and he repeats
[to the Canadian]
Ray: Yes, I am talking to you. What's fucking unbelievable?
Canadian Guy: Well, I'll tell you what's fucking unbelievable, shall I? Blowing cigarette smoke straight into myself and my girlfriend's face. That's fucking unbelievable.
Ray: This is the smoking section.
Canadian Guy: I don't care if it's the smoking section!
Ken: That there is called the Gruuthuse Museum.
Ray: They all have funny names, don't they?
Ken: Yes, Flemish. In here it says, 'The Belgians twice sheltered fugitive English Kings from being murdered, 1471 and 1651.'
Ray: I used to hate history, didn't you? It's all just a load of stuff that's already
happened.
Ray: [to Chloe] You can't sell horse tranquilizers to a midget.