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: The Leones and the Winter Hill Gang both know that they're dyin' out. They've been watchin' it happen for ten years, and the pressure between the two's just been buildin' and buildin' to this entire time. They have excuses for this war of theirs, but they're only that, excuses. Somewhere in their collective minds, they see that they're a dying breed. Men who live such as they do, by the fist and the knife and the gun? They aren't meant to quietly disappear. They'd rather die fighting, killed in a war with those who've been their worthy opponents for over a hundred years, Irish and Italian alike. They would rather go down shooting than simply fade away. They may not say it, they may not even know it, but this is exactly how they want it to end.
: The guys in Philadelphia? Chicago, New York? As much as this bothers them, they're still laughing at you. They see you and those micks fighting to death over a city where you earn in a year what they do in less than a month.
: If you go back, that city will be your grave.
: You can have any city in New England you want instead, just get out of Boston. Sergio 'The Director' Leone
: I can't do that.