Raoul Duke: I was pouring sweat. My blood is too thick for Nevada. I've never been able to properly explain myself in this climate.
Raoul Duke: A drug person can learn to cope with things like seeing their dead grandmother crawling up their leg with a knife in her teeth. But no-one should be asked to handle this trip.
Raoul Duke: Those of us that had been up all night were in no mood for coffee and donuts, we wanted strong drink. We were, after all, the absolute cream of the national sporting press.
Raoul Duke: Of course, I could hear what the clerk was really saying.
Clerk at Flamingo Hotel: Listen, you fuzzy little shithead! I've been fucked around in my time by a fairly good cross-section of mean-tempered, rule-crazy cops, and now it's my turn. So fuck you, Officer. I'm in charge.
Raoul Duke: Total control now. Tooling along the main drag on a Saturday night in Vegas. Two good old boys in a fire-apple red convertible. Stoned. Ripped. Twisted. Good people.
Dr. Gonzo: As your attorney, I advise you to take a hit out of the little brown bottle in my shaving kit. You won't need much, just a tiny taste.
Raoul Duke: Order us some golf shoes, otherwise we'll never get out of this place alive. Impossible to walk in this muck. No footing at all.
Raoul Duke: That bastard isn't gonna get away with this. I mean, what is going on in this country when a scumsucker like that can get away with sandbagging a doctor of journalism? Can you tell me that?
Dr. Gonzo: Cows are gonna kill me. Bisexuals are gonna kill me. Let's get out of here. Where's the elevator?
Raoul Duke: No! Fuck! Don't go near the elevator, man, that's just what they want us to do. Trap us in a steel box, take us down to the basement. Come here. Don't run, man. They'd like any excuse to shoot us.
Raoul Duke: The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.