Al Swearengen: Welcome to fuckin' Deadwood! Can be... combative!

Al Swearengen: Well, I guess when it starts pissin' rain in here, you know who to blame, huh? Now, I know word's circulatin' Indians killed a family on the Spearfish Road. Now it's not for me to tell anyone in this camp what to do, as much as I don't want more people gettin' their throats cut, scalps lifted or any other godless thing that these godless bloodthirsty heathens do. Or even if someone wants to ride out in darkest night. But I will tell you this. I'd use tonight to get myself organized. Ride out in the morning clear-headed. And startin' tomorrow morning, I will offer a personal $50 bounty for every decapitated head of as many of these godless heathen cocksuckers as anyone can bring in. Tomorrow. With no upper limit! That's all I say on that subject, 'cept next round's on the house. And God rest the souls of that poor family. And pussy's half price, next 15 minutes.

Al Swearengen: What happened to Tolliver illustrated till the race is fucking finished, never mark the fucking wager paid. Wakes up this mornig in bed with the fucking Hearst combine, knowing he's got us by the balls. Whatever sick fucking business that geologist has transacted, you can bet he had his wrists in it up...
Dan Dority: Tolliver.
Al Swearengen: Tolliver, yeah.. before, after, and in the fucking middle too, thinking he's got the fucking edge, which is the right fucking move. Underwriting whatever sick business that geologist was involved in guarantees his fucking position, but what fucking happens, Dan?
Dan Dority: Fucks himself up the ass.. Tolliver.
Swearengen: No mean feat! Yet how often we bring it off.

Al Swearengen: What's the matter--taken by a vision? You would not want to be staring like that at me.

Al Swearengen: What's this about?
Trixie: I'm done at that hardware store with their fuckin' harpin' and badgerin'.
Al Swearengen: Who's harping? The jew?
Trixie: Are you making a fuckin' pun?
Al Swearengen: I'm asking a fucking question.
Trixie: The jew. And fuckin' Bullock also. I'm erratic with my decimals and the like.
Al Swearengen: So harping now is a hardship on the same fucking order of a boot on your fucking neck? Do not fucking fault them, Trixie, for your own fucking fears of tumblin' to somethin' new.

Al Swearengen: You can't slit the throat of everyone whose character it would improve.

Al Swearengen: You don't want to interfere with me.
Calamity Jane: You think I'm scared of you?
Al Swearengen: Sure you are. And if I take a knife to you you'll be scared worse and a long time dying.

Al Swearengen: [To the disembodied 'Chief'] Sent many of your friends to the happy hunting ground. Formidable Tom was, and no more a fool now than time shows us all.

Al: You see me empty, Sir, do not pause and inquire, simply assume and refill.

Al: [after waking up from his "coma"] Did you fuck me when I was out?
Dan: Hell, no.
Al: Then quit looking at me like that.

Al: Do they understand how most of what happens is people being drunk and stupid and trying to find something else to blame besides that that makes their lives totally fucked? No. They don't.

Alma Garret: [regarding Sofia] You frighten her.
Al Swearengen: I have that effect.
Alma Garret: I think specifically it was your plotting against her life.
Al Swearengen: I'd take tea
Alma Garret: What do you wish to discuss?
Al Swearengen: The child's tutor you recently sacked..
Alma Garret: Miss Isringhausen?
Al Swearengen: She's a Pinkerton.
Alma Garret: I don't find that credible.
Al Swearengen: That's the way they like it. Your husband's family chartered the agency to pin his dying on you so when you're jailed or hanged they can bag your gold.
Alma Garret: How do you support this contention?
Al Swearengen: Oh, she's come to me, and wants to give me money to confirm what she says you confessed: that you hired me to kill him.
Alma Garret: How much have they offered?
Al Swearengen: 50,000
Alma Garret: And how much do you ask of me as commission to tell the truth?
Al Swearengen: I don't like the Pinkertons. They're muscle for the bosses, as if the bosses ain't got enough edge...
Alma Garret: So you'd side with me on principle?!
Al Swearengen: Now I'll finish my fucking sentence.
Alma Garret: Excuse me.
Al Swearengen: I don't like the Pinkertons. Being the Hearst combine and their fucking ilk got their eyes on taking over here, your staying suits my purpose.

Alma Garret: I've wished sometimes only to play checkers or to occupy myself some other way than having to see and feel so much sadness, or feel every moment how difficult things are, to understand or to live with. I've sometimes felt I couldn't live with them, but I find I can, Sofia. I've found I am, even when I think I'm not or that I can't. Can you look to me now, Sofia? Can you try? I will be so grateful if you will trust me with your sadness, and I will trust you with mine, so that even when we are sad we will be grateful for how much we love each other, and know that we are in the world as much in our pain as in our happiness.

Alma Garret: My beliefs about you have to do with your soul, which I feel is cold and ungenerous, unless you are a counterfeit. And if you are a counterfeit, the deception comes so naturally, I'd credit its source in such a soul.. meaning, cold and ungenerous, and as capable of counterfeit.. manipulative and treacherous as well.
Miss Isringhausen: Who can you think I am, Mrs. Garret? I, a poor working?
Alma Garret: You are not.
Miss Isringhausen: I only hope your high wroth, ma'am, don't bespeak some affair gone amiss.. I hope to Christ not involving Mr. Bullock. Even under such duress, you oughtn't presume to strike me. For who do you take me then? For who do you mistake me?
Alma Garret: I mistake you for no one, Miss Isringhausen, and I know you for a fact.
Miss Isringhausen: All right then, Mrs. Garret. You've had your fit of temper, get the fuck back to your room.

Alma Garret: We do love each other. Our being together ought not to seem so outlandish a proposition. Except for every other single thing.