That, my friends, is the minority vote.
I gotta sleep with one eye open and I've only got one eye, right?
One more time for sweet souvenir?
Everything you see belongs to me, to one degree or another. The beggars and newsboys and quick thieves here in Paradise, the sailor dives and gin mills and blind tigers on the waterfront, the anglers and amusers, the she-hes and the Chinks. Everybody owes, everybody pays. Because that's how you stand up against the rising of the tide.
Burn him, see if his ashes turn green.
Fine waistcoat. Shame about it, I don't think it can be mended. Will I keep it as a souvenir?!
I want you to see this, you Irish pig bastard. Forty-five, this is you!
I have a hole in my shoulder and it hurts, so have a drink and shut up or shut up and get out.
Mulberry Street... and Worth... Cross and Orange... and Little Water. Each of the Five Points is a finger. When I close my hand it becomes a fist. And, if I wish, I can turn it against you.
Ears and noses will be the trophies of the day. But no hand shall touch him.
My father gave his life, making this country what it is. Murdered by the British with all of his men on the twenty fifth of July, anno domini, 1814. Do you think I'm going to help you befoul his legacy, by giving this country over to them, what's had no hand in the fighting for it? Why, because they come off a boat crawling with lice and begging you for soup.
A real native is someone who is willing to die fighting for his country. There's nothing more to it.
On the seventh day the Lord rested, but before that he did, he squatted over the side of England and what came out of him... was Ireland. No offense son.
Don't mind him. He used to be an Irishman.
We hold in our hearts the memory of our fallen brothers whose blood stains the very streets we walk today. Also on this night we pay tribute to the leader of our enemies, an honorable man, who crossed over bravely, fighting for what he believed in. To defeat my enemy, I extinguish his life, and consume him as I consume these flames. In honor of Priest Vallon.
Thank God. I die a true American.
Lord, place the steel of the Holy Spirit in my spine and the love of the Virgin Mary in my heart.
It's a funny feeling being taken under the wing of a dragon. It's warmer than you'd think.
If you get all of us together, we ain't got a gang, we've got an army.
When you kill a king, you don't stab him in the dark. You kill him where the entire court can watch him die.
And no matter what they did to build this city up again, for the rest of time, it will be like no-one even knew we was ever here.
When I was twelve years old, my mother was dead, and I was livin' in a doorway. He took me in. Took care of me, in his way. After they cut out the baby... well, he doesn't fancy girls that's scarred up. But you might as well know in your own mind that he never laid a hand on me until I asked him to.
I've got forty-four notches on my club. Do you know what they're for? They're to remind me what I owe God when I die. My father was killed in battle, too. In Ireland, in the streets, fighting those who would take as their privilege what could only be got and held by the decimation of a race. That war is a thousand years old and more. We never expected it to follow us here. It didn't. It was waiting for us when we landed. Your father tried to carve out a corner of this land for his tribe. That was him, that was his dead rabbits. I often wondered... if he had lived a bit longer, would he have wanted a bit more?
The blood stays on the blade.
Don't never look away.