Mr. Hooper, I'm not talkir
about pleasure boatir or day sailir.

I'm talkir about workir for a living.
I'm talkir about sharkir.

I'm not talkir about hookir
some poor dogfish or sand shark.

I'm talkir about finding a great white.
Porkers? Talkir about porkers?
Just tie me a sheepshank.
I haven't had to pass basic seamanship
in a long time.

Y ou didn't say how short you wanted it.
How's that?
Gimme your hands.
Y ou got a $5,000 net
and you got $2,000 won'th of fish in it.

Along comes Mr. Whitey,
by the time he's finished with that net...

...it looks like a kiddy's scissors class
has cut it up for a paper doll.

Y ou got city hands, Mr. Hooper.
Y ou been countir money all your life.

I don't need this.
I don't need this working class hero crap.

Y ou're not gonna do this
aboard the ship are you, Mr. Quint?

Maybe I should go alone.
It's my party. It's my charter.
Yeah, it's your charter, it's your party.
It's my vessel.

Y ou're on board my vessel...
...l'm mate, master, pilot...
...and I'm captain.
I'll take him for ballast, Chief.
Y ou got him.
Tail rope, eye splice, M-1, pliers, irons...
Sample bottles, dye marker,
flares, safety float...

...temperature gauge, spear guns, SMG...
What are you?
Some kind of half-assed astronaut?