— You have to do the job, though, Jack. You have to ferry souls to the next world or end up just like Jones.
— I don't have the face for tentacles. But immortal has to count for something, eh?
Do you think he plans it all out or just makes it up as he goes along?
The wind's on our side, boys. That's all we need!
This is no longer your world, Jones.
— I'm sorry, Jack, but there is an old friend who wants to see you first.
— I'm not certain I can survive any more visits from old friends.
— Lookie here, boys. A lost bird. A lost bird that never learned to fly.
— To my great regret. But... never too late to learn, eh?
— One day ashore. Ten years at sea. It's a steep price for what's been done.
— Depends on the one day.
— Barbossa! Marry us!
— I'm a little busy at the moment!
— Barbossa, now!
— Fine then. Dearly beloved, we be gathered here today, to nail your gizzards to the mast, you poxy cur.
With me killed, you'd arrive at the Cove, find it a stronghold nigh impregnable, able to withstand blockade for years, and then you'd be wishing: «Oh, if only there was someone I had not killed inside to ensure that the pirates then come outside».
We have lost speed and, therefore, time. Precious time which cannot be recovered once lost.
The Brethren will still be looking here to us, to the Black Pearl to lead. And what will they see? Frightened bilge rats aboard a derelict ship? No. No, they will see free men and freedom! And what the enemy will see is the flash of our cannons. They will hear the ring of our swords, and they will know what we can do. By the sweat of our brows, and the strength of our backs, and the courage of our hearts. Gentlemen, hoist the colours.
— If we don't stand together, they'll hunt us down one by one till there will be none left but you.
— Quite like the sound of that. Captain Jack Sparrow, the last pirate.
— Aye. And you'll be fighting Jones alone. How does that figure into your plan?
— I'm still working on that!
— Jack.
— Mr. Gibbs.
— Aye, captain.
— I thought so. I expect you're able to account for your actions, then.
— Sir?
— There has been a perpetual and virulent lack of discipline upon my vessel. Why? Why is that, sir?
— Sir, you're... You're in Davy Jones' Locker, captain.
— I know that. I know where I am. And don't think I don't.
I will be free. And when I am, I will give you my heart and we will be together always. If only you had a heart to give.
Because honour's a hard thing to come by nowadays.
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