Irish Annie: Another week and I might never leave.
Bret: Ah, well, another week and, uh, I might not even let you.

Elijah: Never thought I'd see Maverick looking like that.
Cy: I can't get him to come home.
Tom: I can't even get him to talk.

Philo Sandeen: I am an Indian trapped in a white man's body.
Bret: You're also about three feet short of a yard.

Philo Sandeen: For right now, let's just say that I'm the bridge between the red man and the white man.
Bret: I'm glad I can swim.

Cinto Morado: They call you Standing Bear?
Philo Sandeen: A name given me by the Sioux.
Cinto Morado: A large name for a small weasel.

Bret: "Hoka hey," that's Sioux for "it's a good day to die," and Sandeen is speaking strictly for himself.

Rodney: What's it made of?
Philo Sandeen: First you cook the sap out of a jimson weed root. Then you dice in your peyote buttons, the sacred mushrooms, and your Nogales hemp buds. Then you lace with a quart of mescal and let simmer over a low flame for about... half an hour.
Rodney: What'll it do to him?
Philo Sandeen: You ever ridden bareback on a red-eyed cougar through midnight?
Rodney: I can't say I have.
Philo Sandeen: It's quite a journey. And there are no hitching rails on the moon, so it wouldn't do well to confuse the bone.