You know that feeling you get sometimes when you're standing in a high place? Sudden urge to jump? I don't have it.
Did everyone see that? Because I will not be doing it again.
— You are, without doubt, the worst pirate I've ever heard of.
— But you have heard of me.
All right, you're in. Don't need you. You scare me.
Death has a curious way of reshuffling one's priorities.
— What were you doing in a Spanish convent, anyway?
— Mistook it for a brothel. Honest mistake.
Ladies! Will you please shut it? Listen to me. Yes, I lied to you. No, I don't love you. Of course it makes you look fat. I've never been to Brussels. It is pronounced «egregious». By the way, no, I've never actually met Pizarro, but I love his pies. All of this pales to utter insignificance in light of the fact that my ship is once again gone. Savvy?
Why should I sail with any of you? Four of you have tried to kill me in the past. One of you succeeded.
— Why is the rum gone?
— One, because it is a vile drink that turns even the most respectable men into complete scoundrels. Two, that signal is over a thousand feet high. The entire Royal Navy is out looking for me. Do you really think that there is even the slightest chance — that they won't see it?
— But why is the rum gone?