Tom Smith: You know, you don't throw a whole life away just 'cause he's banged up a little.
Red Pollard: [Last line, narrating] You know, everybody thinks we found this broken-down horse and fixed him, but we didn't. He fixed us. Every one of us. And I guess in a way we kinda fixed each other too.
George Woolf: Wanta know what I think?
Charles Howard: Of course.
George Woolf: I think it's better to break a man's leg than his heart.
Charles Howard: The horse is too small, the jockey too big, the trainer too old, and I'm too dumb to know the difference.
[Red is not eating his food at the dinner table]
Charles Howard: Go ahead, eat.
Red Pollard: I'm not that hungry.
Charles Howard: Sure, you're not.
Red Pollard: It's just a lot of food.
Charles Howard: I'd rather have you strong than thin.
Charles Howard: You could be crippled for the rest of your life.
Red Pollard: I *was* crippled for the rest of my life. I got better. He made me better. Hell, you made me better.
George Woolf: You know, if you did more riding and less talking you might start winning some races.
Red Pollard: I got two bucks says I beat you in this one.
George Woolf: I'm not sure you do but I got five bucks says that you don't.
California Doctor: If he breaks it again, it's possible he could never walk again.
Red Pollard: He just said it's possible. Well, hell, anything's possible. We've proved that already.
Tick Tock McGlaughlin: No more match races for this little horse because frankly they're all out of matches. Who's he gonna race? Pegasus? I pity these horses.
[Upon entering Samuel Riddle's stables]
Red Pollard: Jesus Christ. I want to be a horse.
Tom Smith: You're almost big enough.
Charles Howard: [speaking to the newsmen after the win at Santa Anita] Well, I just think this horse has a lot of heart. He may have been down, but he wasn't out. He may have lost a few, but he didn't let it get to him. I think I learned a lick or two from this little guy. Oh, and by the way, he doesn't know he's little. He thinks he's the biggest horse out there.
George Woolf: Pretty small, ain't he?
Red Pollard: He's gonna look a lot smaller in a second, Georgie.
Tom Smith: One more thing.
George Woolf: What? Let him catch me on the backstretch? You know, you're not the only one who knows this horse.
[George has awoken Red after losing a fight]
Red Pollard: Did I lose?
George Woolf: Oh no, you clobbered him.
Riddle: [On Radio talking about a match race with Seabiscuit] It wouldn't be fair to us. It wouldn't be fair to them either. You wouldn't put Jack Dempsey in the ring with a middle-weight would you?
Red Pollard: Middle-weight? I'll kill him. I'll knock his goddamn block off. He's chicken, that's what it is. I mean, middle-weight?
Reporter: Awful lotta hoopla for such a little horse.
Red Pollard: Though he be but little, he is fierce.
Reporter: What's that?
Red Pollard: That's Shakespeare, boys, Shakespeare.
Sam: You sure that leg'll hold you?
Red Pollard: He's a 1200 pound horse, Sam. I'm an afterthought.
Sam: No, I meant your leg.
Narrator: The first time he saw Seabiscuit, the colt was walking through the fog at five in the morning. Smith would say later that the horse looked right through him. As if to say, "What the hell are you looking at? Who do you think you are?" He was a small horse, barely fifteen hands. He was hurting too. There was a limp in his walk, a wheezing when he breathed. Smith didn't pay attention to that. He was looking the horse in the eye.
Red Pollard: I'm fine George. I don't need your help and I sure as shit don't need your charity. Leave me alone.
[displaying Seabiscuit's jockey silks]
Marcela Howard: You don't think the "H" is too big?
Charles Howard: You seen the size of our jockey?
Red Pollard: Brick by brick, my citizens. Brick by brick.
[after losing a photo finish horse race]
Red Pollard: It's not my fault. Not this time.
Tom Smith: I told you, look out for Rosemont!
Red Pollard: I thought I had it!
Tom Smith: You stopped ridin' him!
Red Pollard: I couldn't see him!
Tom Smith: What the hell are you talking about? He was flyin' up your tail!
Red Pollard: Yeah, well, I can't...
Tom Smith: What?
Red Pollard: ...SEE out there!
Narrator: [First lines] They called it the car for every man. Henry Ford himself called it a car for the great multitude. It was functional, and simple, like your sewing machine, or your cast-iron stove. You could learn to drive it in less than a day. And you could get any color you wanted, so long as it was black. When Ford first conceived the Model-T, it took thirteen hours to assemble. Within five years he was turning out a vehicle every ninety seconds. Of course the real invention was the assembly line that built it. Pretty soon other businesses had borrowed the same technologies. Seamstresses became button sewers. Furniture makers became knob turners. It was the beginning and the end of imagination, all at the same time.
[in a restaurant, reacting to Riddle's refusal]
Charles Howard: Shit!
Marcela Howard: Charles!
Charles Howard: [quietly] Shit!
Marcela Howard: Yeah, I know what you mean.
Red Pollard: This isn't just any race. This is the Santa Anita. I had that race. I was there.
Charles Howard: I know.
Charles Howard: It isn't just the leg. He could fall off. He could get trampled. He could...
Marcela Howard: He could die?
[She picks a little ball game out of his pocket]
Marcela Howard: You know I play with this all the time, too. No matter how hard I try, I can't get that damn ball to stay in the hole. Just let him ride. Just let him do it.
Tick Tock McGlaughlin: $100,000? Makes me wanna walk on all fours and put a saddle on my back.
Tick Tock McGlaughlin: One comeback I can take, but two? Who's next? Lazarus?
Marcela Howard: Well he is fast.
Tom Smith: [looking down at the ground] Yeah... in every direction.
[Howard is selling a new Buick at his dealership, explaining the advantages of a car over a horse]
Charles Howard: To tell you the truth, I wouldn't spend more than five dollars on the best horse in America.
George Woolf: [during the Match race, on the final stretch to War Admiral's jockey] So long, Charlie.
Mrs. Pollard: You should be riding it. You knew the poem.
Mr. Pollard: Yeah, but he just looks so perfect out there, doesn't he?
Mrs. Pollard: Yeah.
Mr. Pollard: That's the poetry, Agnes. That's the poetry
Red Pollard: A dream come true, walkin' you around. Hook you up to a plow, pull me around for a little while. Come on. You ever run in the money? Huh? Hey. Hey. You ever run in the money?
[Horse Whinnies ]
Red Pollard: I don't think so. Couldn't beat a human being, let alone another horse.
Red Pollard: You goddamn sack-of-crap old plater. Probably the fastest you're gonna run in your entire life, you piece-of-shit old glue-pot. That's right.
Red Pollard: Morning.
Tom Smith: What's all this?
[motions towards pile of boxes Red is sitting on]
Red Pollard: It's beer! From an admiring public, pretty good too, more in there.
[indicates Seabiscuit's stall]
Tom Smith: [looks in stall] Where's the horse?
Red Pollard: [amused smile] Signing autographs.
Tom Smith: Where is the horse?
Red Pollard: [grins] Signing autographs.
Tom Smith: He's what?
[cut to Charles Howard having Seabiscuit stamping his hoof on papers for a crowd]