Bill 'The Butcher' Cutting
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Quotes for
Bill 'The Butcher' Cutting (Character)
from Gangs of New York (2002)

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Gangs of New York (2002)
Bill: You see this knife? I'm gonna teach you to speak English with this fucking knife!

Boss Tweed: You killed an elected official?
Bill: Who elected him?
Boss Tweed: You don't know what you've done to yourself.
Bill: [taps his glass eye with a knife] I know your works. You are neither cold nor hot. So because you are lukewarm, I will spew you out of my mouth. You can build your filthy world without me. I took the father. Now I'll take the son. You tell young Vallon I'm gonna paint Paradise Square with his blood. Two coats. I'll festoon my bedchamber with his guts. As for you, Mr. Tammany-fucking-Hall, you come down to the Points again, and you'll be dispatched by my own hand. Get back to your celebration and let me eat in peace.

Bill: I took the father, now I'll take the son.

Bill: He was the only man I ever killed worth remembering.

Bill: How old are you, Amsterdam?
Amsterdam Vallon: I'm not sure, sir. I never did quite figure it.
Bill: I'm forty-seven. Forty-seven years old. You know how I stayed alive this long? All these years? Fear. The spectacle of fearsome acts. Somebody steals from me, I cut off his hands. He offends me, I cut out his tongue. He rises against me, I cut off his head, stick it on a pike, raise it high up so all on the streets can see. That's what preserves the order of things. Fear.

Bill: Mulberry Street... and Worth... Cross and Orange... and Little Water. Each of the Five Points is a finger. When I close my hand it becomes a fist. And, if I wish, I can turn it against you.

Bill: Thank God. I die a true American.

Bill: That, my friends, is the minority vote.

Bill: At my challenge, by the ancient laws of combat, we are met at this chosen ground, to settle for good and all who holds sway over the five points: us natives, born rightwise to this fine land, or the foreign hordes defiling it.
Crowd: Yeah.
Priest Vallon: By the ancient laws of combat, I accept the challenge of the so called "natives." They plague our people at every turn, but from this day out, they shall plague us no more. For let it be known, that the hand that tries to strike us from this land shall be swiftly cut down.
Crowd: YEAH.

Bill: Is this it priest, the Pope's new army, a few crusty bitches and a hand full of rag tags?
Priest Vallon: Now, now, Bill, you swore this was a battle between warriors, not a bunch of miss nancies, so warriors is what I brought.
[various Irish Gangs proceed to appear]

Bill: Hey, have you met Amsterdam? He almost fish-hooked McGloin.

Bill: Ears and noses will be the trophies of the day. But no hand shall touch him.

Bill: This is a night for Americans!

Bill: Anything in your pockets?
Jenny: I ain't started working yet.

Bill: Is this the Pope's new army?

Bill: Burn him, see if his ashes turn green.

Bill The Butcher: This is a day for America.

Bill: Here's the thing. I don't give a tuppenny fuck about your moral conundrum, you meat-headed shit-sack. That's more or less the thing. And I want you to go out there... You, nobody else. None of your little minions. I want you to go out there. And I want you to punish the person who's responsible for murdering this poor little rabbit. Is that understood?

Bill: My father gave his life, making this country what it is. Murdered by the British with all of his men on the twenty fifth of July, anno domini, 1814. Do you think I'm going to help you befoul his legacy, by giving this country over to them, what's had no hand in the fighting for it? Why, because they come off a boat crawling with lice and begging you for soup.

Happy Jack: I'm paid to uphold the law.
Bill: What in Heaven's name are you talking about?

Bill: A *real* native is someone who is willing to die fighting for his country. There's nothing more to it.

Bill: On the seventh day the Lord rested, but before that he did, he squatted over the side of England and what came out of him... was Ireland. No offense son.
Amsterdam Vallon: Nah, none taken, sir. I grew up here. All I ever knew of Ireland was from the talk of the others at the orphan asylum.
Bill: And which part of that excrementitious isle where your forebears spawned?
Amsterdam Vallon: I've been told Kerry, I lost proof of it in my language at the asylum.

Bill: Civilization is crumbling

Bill: WOOPSY DAISY!

Boss Tweed: You may or may not know, Bill, that everyday I go down to the waterfront with hot soup for the Irish as they come ashore. Its part of building a political base.
Bill: I've noticed you there, you may have noticed me.
Boss Tweed: Indeed I have. Throwing torrents of abuse to every single person who steps off those boats.
Bill: [gleefully] If only I had the guns, Mr. Tweed, I'd shoot each and every one of them before they set foot on American soil.

Bill: You. Whatever your name is... what is your name?
Amsterdam Vallon: Amsterdam, sir.
Bill: Amsterdam... I'm New York... don't you never come in here empty handed again, you gotta pay for the pleasure of my company.

Bill: Don't mind him. He used to be an Irishman.

Bill: It's Election Day.

[as a man is about to be hung]
Bill: That's a fine locket. I'll give you a dollar for it.
Arthur: It was me mother's...
Bill: Dollar and a half?
Arthur: Done.

Bill: [after stabbing Priest] Look to me! Who is this under my knife!

Bill: Everything you see belongs to me, to one degree or another. The beggars and newsboys and quick thieves here in Paradise, the sailor dives and gin mills and blind tigers on the waterfront, the anglers and amusers, the she-hes and the Chinks. Everybody owes, everybody pays. Because that's how you stand up against the rising of the tide.

Boss Tweed: Bill, I can't get a days work done for all the good citizens coming in here to harass me about crime in the Points. Some even go so far as to accuse Tammany of connivance in this so-called rampant criminality. What am I to do? I can't have this. Something has to be done.
Bill: What do you have in mind?
Boss Tweed: I don't know. I think maybe we should hang someone.
Bill: Who?
Boss Tweed: No one important, necessarily. Average men will do. Back alley amusers with no affiliations.
Bill: How many?
Boss Tweed: Three or four.
Bill: Which?
Boss Tweed: Four.

Boss Tweed: That's the building of our country right there, Mr. Cutting. Americans aborning.
Bill: I don't see no Americans. I see trespassers, Irish harps. Do a job for a nickel what a nigger does for a dime and a white man used to get a quarter for. What have they done? Name one thing they've contributed.
Boss Tweed: Votes.
Bill: Votes, you say? They vote how the archbishop tells them, and who tells the archbishop? Their king in the pointy hat what sits on his throne in Rome.

Bill: Well draw it mildly son. Happy Jack don't fill his lungs without I tell him he may do so.

Amsterdam Vallon: Challenge.
Bill: Challenge accepted.

Bill: We hold in our hearts the memory of our fallen brothers whose blood stains the very streets we walk today. Also on this night we pay tribute to the leader of our enemies, an honorable man, who crossed over bravely, fighting for what he believed in. To defeat my enemy, I extinguish his life, and consume him as I consume these flames. In honor of Priest Vallon.

Boss Tweed: You're a good one for the fighting, Bill. But you can't fight forever.
Bill: I can go down doing it.
Boss Tweed: And you will!
Bill: What did you say?
Boss Tweed: I said, you're turning your back on the future.
Bill: Not our future.

Bill: I killed the last honorable man, 15 years ago. Since then it's... You seen his portrait downstairs?
Amsterdam Vallon: Mm-hmm.
Bill: 'S your mouth all glued-up with cunny juice? I asked you a question!
Amsterdam Vallon: [angrily] I said I *seen* it, sir.
Bill: [smiling] Oh, you got a murderous streak in you!

Bill: Careful, Tweedy. The Mort's Frenchified.

Bill: You mother-whoring Irish nigger.

Bill: Now that you've had a taste of my mutton, how do you like it?

Bill: He ain't earned a death! He ain't a death at my hands! No, he'll walk amongst you marked with shame, a freak worthy of Barnum's Museum of Wonders. God's only man, spared by the Butcher.

Bill: Pistols?
Amsterdam Vallon: No pistols.
Bill: Good boy.

Bill: Whose man are you?

Bill: The Priest and me, we lived by the same principles. It was only faith divided us. He gave me this, you know? That was the finest beating I ever took. My face was pulp. My guts was pierced, my ribs was all mashed up. And when he came to finish me, I couldn't look him in the eye. He spared me, because he wanted me to live in shame. This was a great man. A great man. So I out out the eye that looked away, I sent it to him wrapped in blue paper. I would've cut them both out if I could have fought him blind. And I rose back up again with a full heart... and buried him in his own blood. He was the only man I ever killed worth remembering.

Bill: Oranges, delicious. What a peach! You should put her on the stage.
Dignitary: He knows my name!
Happy Jack: He prides himself on knowing.