Frank Costello: I'm going to have my associate search you.
Billy Costigan: No, no one's fucking searching me. Searching me for what?
Frank Costello: Contra-fucking-band. Take your shoes off.
[French slams Costigan into a chair]
Mr. French: Shoes.
Frank Costello: [to Costigan] I knew your father.
Billy Costigan: Yeah? You know he's dead?
Frank Costello: Oh, sorry. How'd he go?
Billy Costigan: He didn't complain.
Frank Costello: Yeah, that was his problem.
Billy Costigan: Who said he had a problem?
Frank Costello: I just said he had a fucking problem. There's a man who could have been anything.
Billy Costigan: Are you trying to say he was nothing?
[French slams Costigan onto a pool table and continues his search]
Frank Costello: I'm saying he worked at the airport.

Frank Costello: You know, if your father were alive, and saw you here sitting with me, let's say he would have a word with me about this. In fact, he'd kill seven guys just to cut my throat, and he could do it. That's maybe something you don't know about William Costigan, Sr.
Billy Costigan: So he never? I mean, never?
Frank Costello: No. He kept his own counsel. He never wanted money. You can't do anything with a man like that. You're Uncle Jackie - he also would kill my entire fucking family if he saw me here with you. And I think about this.

Frank Costello: Have a seat, Bill.
[Costigan sits down at Costello's dinner table]
Frank Costello: [while eating crab] Do you know John Lennon?
Billy Costigan: Yeah, sure, he was the president before Lincoln.
Frank Costello: Lennon said, "I'm an artist. You give me a fucking tuba, I'll get you something out of it."
Billy Costigan: [sarcastically] Well I tell you Mr. Costello, I'd like to squeeze some fucking money out of it.
Frank Costello: Smart mouth. Too bad. If you'll indulge me...
[sees Gwen leaving]
Frank Costello: Now what?
Gwen: Choir practice.
Frank Costello: [annoyed] Choir practice.
[Costello pulls out a severed human hand]
Frank Costello: The point I'm making with John Lennon is - a man could look at anything, and make something out of it. For instance, I look at you and I think "what could I use you for?"

Billy Costigan: Listen, listen. I got like, like thirty thousand bucks, right? Insurance money. You know, after my mother passed and everything?
Cousin Sean: Yeah, yeah.
Billy Costigan: In your line of work, if I gave you like what, ten thousand, what could I get back?
Cousin Sean: You know... you know what you usually say at these moments?
Billy Costigan: What? What?
Cousin Sean: C'mon, man.
Billy Costigan: Aw, come on, you fucking moron. Come on. What, you want me to say it? Huh? I'm not a cop, alright? I'm your fucking cousin.
Cousin Sean: Yeah, you're bad! You corrupt fuck, man! You must be my cousin.

I don't want to be a product of my environment. I want my environment to be a product of me. Years ago we had the church. That was only a way of saying - we had each other. The Knights of Columbus were real head-breakers; true guineas. They took over their piece of the city. Twenty years after an Irishman couldn't get a fucking job, we had the presidency. May rest in peace. That's what the niggers don't realize. If I got one thing against the black chappies, it's this - no one gives it to you. You have to take it.

Frank Costello

When I was your age they used to say you could become cops or criminals. What I'm saying to you is this... When you're facing a loaded gun, what's the difference?

Frank Costello

Police Camera Tech: Who the fuck are you?
Dignam: I'm the guy who does his job. You must be the other guy.

The name's Bond... James Bond.

James Bond

James Bond: Vodka-martini.
Bartender: Shaken or stirred?
James Bond: Does it look like I give a damn?

Vesper? I do hope you gave your parents hell for that.

James Bond

Vesper Lynd: You're not going to let me in there. You've got your armour back on.
James Bond: I have no armour left. You've stripped it from me. Whatever is left of me - whatever I am - I'm yours.

James Bond: I always thought M was a randomly assigned initial, I had no idea it stood for...
M: Utter one more syllable and I'll have you killed.

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