What’s in the box? What’s in the fucking box?
Wanting people to listen, you can't just tap them on the shoulder anymore. You have to hit them with a sledgehammer, and then you'll notice you've got their strict attention.
Detective. Detective. DETECTIVE! You're looking for me.
You're no messiah. You're a movie of the week. You're a fucking t-shirt, at best.
A wise guy's always right; even when he's wrong, he's right.
Twenty years you know a guy, you fuckin' whack him out just like that over a lounge? That's beautiful.
This guy's methodical, exacting, and worst of all, patient.
When I introduce you, I'm gonna say, "This is a friend of mine." That means you're a connected guy. Now if I said instead, this is a friend of ours that would mean you a made guy. A Capiche?
All my life I've tried to be the good guy, the guy in the white fucking hat. And for what? For nothing. I'm not becoming like them; I am them.
Ernest Hemingway once wrote, "The world is a fine place and worth fighting for." I agree with the second part.