I present to you, Taneleer Tivan, the Collector.
It’s a Sicilian message. It means Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.
Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line!
Fear is not an option.
Wendy? Darling? Light, of my life. I’m not gonna hurt ya. You didn’t let me finish my sentence. I said, I’m not gonna hurt ya. I’m just going to bash your brains in.
Don’t say that! Every time someone says that, a fairy somewhere falls down dead. And I’ll never find her if she’s dead!
Death cannot stop true love. All it can do is delay it for a while.
He’s dead, Jim.
Money’s only something you need in case you don’t die tomorrow.
Oh, you’re a disgrace to the profession. You’re not a mercenary, you’re a fucking terrorist. You need two things to live in this business, your balls and your word. You don’t have either!
I’m Mr. Arlington Beech, professional gambler, and you’re Miss Stephanie Broadchest…
This is war, Michael. In a war, children die.
Not even the younglings survived.
The Sicilians would rather eat their children than part with their money. And they’re very fond of their children.
Tell Curnow that this is no time for jokes.
We were somewhere around Barstow, on the edge of the desert, when the drugs began to take hold.
Where it’s flat and immense, and the heat is intense…
Beufotin. Hell of a hallucination. He’s gone and he’s not coming back.
This is the problem with free speech.
It’s the unspoken truth of humanity, that you crave subjugation. The bright lure of freedom diminishes your life’s joy in a mad scramble for power, for identity. You were made to be ruled.