Christian: The Moulin Rouge. A night club, a dance hall and a bordello. Ruled over by Harold Zidler. A kingdom of night time pleasures. Where the rich and powerful came to play with the young and beautiful creatures of the underworld. The most beauti...
Zidler: She said you make her feel "like a virgin." The Duke: Virgin? Zidler: You know, touched for the very first time.
Satine: I can't believe it. I'm in love. I'm in love with a young, handsome, talented duke. Christian: Duke? Satine: Not that the title's important, of course. Christian: I'm not a duke. Satine: Not a duke? Christian: I'm a writer. Satine: A writer?
[Before kissing Christian] Satine: You're going to be bad for business. I can tell.
Satine: A little supper? Maybe some champagne? Christian: I'd rather, um, just get it over and done with. Satine: Hmph. Oh. Very well. Then why don't you come down here and let's get it over and done with. Christian: I prefer to do it standing. Satin...
Satine: The French are glad to die for love. They delight in fighting duels. But I prefer a man who lives... and gives expensive... jewels.
Argentinean: The Hills are alive with the sound of music? I love it.
Zidler: A magnificent, opulent, tremendous, stupendous, gargantuan, bedazzlement, a sensual ravishment. It will be: Spectacular Spectacular.
The Duke: ...a little frog
The Duke: Generally I like it.
Satine: [to herself, singing] When will I begin to live again? One day I'll fly away... leave all this to yesterday. Why live life from dream to dream, and dread the day when dreaming ends.
Satine: [singing] Today's the day... Satine, Zidler: [singing] When dreaming ends
Argentinean: It's like; one is a Duke, and the other... [Argentinean falls asleep and falls down stairs]
The Duke: Why shouldn't the courtesan go for the maharajah? Christian: Because she doesn't love you. Him... hi... him... sh... she doesn't love... him...
Argentinean: The boy has talent. [Grabs Christian's crotch] Argentinean: [Christian gasps] Argentinean: Nothing funny, I just like talent.
Satine: We're going away, away from you, away from the Duke, away from the Moulin Rouge. Goodbye Harold!
Toulouse-Lautrec: How do you do? My name is Henri Marie Raymond Toulouse-Lautrec Montfa. Christian: What? Toulouse-Lautrec: I'm terribly sorry about all this. We're just upstairs rehearsing a play. Christian: What?
Satine: Please tell me you're not one of Toulouse's oh so talented, charmingly bohemian, tragically impoverished writers?
