— Jack. Elizabeth is in danger.
— Have you considered just locking her up somewhere?
— She is locked up, bound to hang for helping you.
— There comes a time when one must take responsibility for one's mistakes.
— Is this a dream?
— No.
— I thought not. If it were, there'd be rum.
— I'll watch your back.
— It's me front I'm worried about.
No worries, mates. Tia Dalma and I go way back. Thick as thieves. Nigh inseparable, we are. Were. Have been. Before.
— It's real. You actually were telling the truth.
— I do that quite a lot, yet people are always surprised.
— My intuitive sense of the female creature informs me that you are troubled.
— I just thought I'd be married by now. I'm so ready to be married.
— Mr Gibbs, we have a need to travel upriver.
— By need, do you mean a trifling need? Fleeting? As in, say, a passing fancy?
— No, a resolute and unyielding need.
I got a jar of dirt! I got a jar of dirt! And guess what's inside it?
— You want me to find this?
— No. You want you to find this, because the finding of this finds you incapacitorially finding and/or locating in your discovering a way to save your dolly belle, ol' what's-her-face. Savvy?
— This is going to save Elizabeth?
— How much do you know about Davy Jones?
— Not much.
— Yeah, it's going to save Elizabeth.
— It's a key.
— No. Much more better. It is a drawing of a key.