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: You fucker! My betrothed. You're nothing but a pestilence, an uphill gardener with a weak chin. You're a filthafising thief, that's what you are. You think you can steal from me? From me? From Dom Hemingway?
: Oh, my head is throbbing. It's fuckin' throbbin', Dickie. Like a disco in my head. Like a fucking Manila disco full of transvestites and suckling pigs.
: Fontaine better have a well-stocked bar. Dickie Black
: He was raised in a Russian orphanage and kills people for a living. Of course he has a well-stocked bar.
: I don't know who this man is. Dom Hemingway
: Oh. I'll tell you who I am. I'm the fucker who'll tear your nose off with my teeth. I'm the fucker who will gut you with a dull cheese knife and sing Gilbert and Sullivan while I do it. I'm the fucker who'll dump your dead body in a freezing cold lake and watch you sink to the bottom like so much shit. I am that fucker. That's the fucker who I am.
: I should fucking kill you, but I fancy a pint instead.
: [referring to girl on bike
] Dom, I know what you're thinking, but that's Fontaine's property. Dom Hemingway
: Property is a relative term for a thief.
: Whatever happened to you it sure wasn't pretty. Dom Hemingway
: Misfortune. Misfortune befell me.
: I'm Dom. Dom is English for "unlucky son of a bitch".
: And that, my friends, is how you open a safe!
: I seen death. I seen evil. I seen fire. I seen rain. I seen lonely days I thought would never end. You don't fucking scare me! I fuck you!