Deadwood quotes

197 total quotes

Jack McCall: [While playing poker] Well, that's one in a row for you, Wild Bill. Who's hungry? What in the hell damn time is it anyway?
Wild Bill: Sure you wanna quit playin', Jack? The game's all that's between you and gettin' called a cunt.
Tom Nuttall: Ah, meeting adjourned, fellas. Take it outside.
Wild Bill: That drooped eye of yours looks like the hood of a cunt to me, Jack. When you talk, your mouth looks like a cunt moving.
Jack McCall: I ain't gonna get in no gunfight with you, Hickock.
Wild Bill: But you will run your cunt mouth at me. And I will take it to play poker.

Al Swearengen: How well do you know the other guy?
Pinkerton: Who would that be?
Al Swearengen: That my man Dority killed. The Captain.
Pinkerton: We served in the 69th in New York.
Al Swearengen: Was that a mick regiment?
Pinkerton: Yeah. What were you doing?
Al Swearengen: Cutting throats.
Pinkerton: I was asking whose flag you were under.
Al Swearengen: The famous cocksuckers brigade.
Pinkerton: Is that so?
Al Swearengen: Command of the all-whore detachment. Distress you, when my man downed your friend?
Pinkerton: Let me tell you something, Mr. Swearengen. You don't scare me, and you don't fucking know what happened with the 69th New York. I will tell you this: I didn't like what happened to Joe Turner. Mr. Hearst came to him and said, "Make it last, even if you gain the upper hand and can kill him." And I think that was halfway selfish of Mr. Hearst, whereas Joe could have killed your man and didn't, and look how it wound up. But that's as much as I feel like saying, and that's neither here nor fucking there.

Hearst: Have the gold seen to [Alma's] bank, Newman. Have its purity assayed. Let her or her seconds choose the man. When that tedium is completed, have the documents witnessed as though we were all of us Jews. And bring the business back to me. [turns to leave] Excuse my absence, Mr. Star, as I hope you'll forgive my thoughtless aspersion on your race. [Sol nods.] You stand for local office, but some contests being countywide, I await wires from the other camps. [holds the door open and Alma turns to leave. Hearst sniffs as she passes by.] You've changed your scent.
Seth Bullock: Can't shut up! Every bully I ever met can't shut his fuckin' mouth... except when he's afraid.
Hearst: You mistake for fear, Mr. Bullock, what is in fact preoccupation. I'm having a conversation you cannot hear.

Al Swearengen: Don't you think I don't understand. I mean, what can anyone of us ever really fuckin' hope for, huh? Except for a moment here and there with a person who doesn't want to rob, steal or murder us? At night, it may happen. Sun-up, one person against the fuckin' wall, the other may hop on the fuckin' bed trusting each other enough to tell half the fucking truth. Everybody needs that. Becomes precious to 'em. They don't want to see it fucked with.
Sol: I won't pay.
Al Swearengen: You pay”¦ or she pays. No home visits. Do your visiting on the premises, five. [Sol slides five coins across the bar] Seven for an ass-fuck.

Al Swearengen: [to Doc] Jesus Christ! The fucking gimp finds something useful to do in the fucking brace you made her. Do you think you could treat "Being Johnny" -- always struggling to fashion a fuckin' thought? Every fucking night, I, that could cut a throat and sleep the sleep of the just, spend six fucking wakings trying to fill a piss-pot with my dribble and wondering when I got to be so old. [throws swatches down to Doc] Pick a fucking swatch for a spit rag, use the others for masks, and go about your fucking business. I ain't learning a new doc's quirks!

Al Swearengen: [discussing Custer at Little Bighorn] I'll tell you this, son, you can mark my words, Crazy Horse went into Little Bighorn, bought his people one good, long-term ass-fucking. You do not want to be a dirt-worshipping heathen from this fucking point forward. Pardon my French.
Joanie Stubbs: Oh, I speak French.

Al Swearengen: [talking to the Indian head in the box] This fuckin' place is gonna be a fuckin' misery. Every fuckin' one of them, every fuckin' time I walk by, "Ooh, how could you? How could you?" With their big fuckin' cow eyes. The entire fuckin' gaggle of ”˜em is gonna have to bleed and quit before we can even hope for peace. What's the fuckin' alternative? I ain't fuckin' killing her that sat nights with me sick and takin' slaps to her mug that were some less than fuckin' fair. I should have fuckin' learned to use a gun, but I'm too fuckin' entrenched in my ways. And you ain't exactly the one to be levelin' criticisms on the score of being slow to adapt. You fuckin' people are the original slow fuckin' learners!

Al Swearengen: In life you have to do a lot of things you don't fucking want to do. Many times, that's what the fuck life is... one vile fucking task after another. But don't get aggravated... then the enemy has you by the short hairs.

Al Swearengen: I did not shame myself. I keep an open mind in that area. Kid yourself about your behaviour, you'll never learn a fuckin' thing. I knew it was comin' too. Fuckin' Captain, holdin' me down. I knew what the fuck was next.
Dolly: When he chopped off your finger?
Al Swearengen: He didn't chop off my finger! Hearst chopped my fuckin' finger off; the other fuck held me down! They hold you down, y-you can't get at 'em to help yourself. Fuckin' cold in here anyway, isn't it?
Dolly: You want a blanket?
Al Swearengen: If I do I'll put it round me, you ain't boss of the fuckin' bedclothes! They hold you down from behind. Then you wonder why you're helpless. How the fuck could you not be?
Dolly: I don't like it either.
Al Swearengen: Another one that held me down, that fuckin' Proctor when I tried to get to that ship. He fuckin' held me, fuckin' wouldn't let me go. Fuckin' in my mind, y'see, she was being restrained, couldn't get back off, that had got on the boat to fuckin' New Orleans to go suck prick in Georgia. She changed her mind, and I was bein' restrained by that fat, bastard orphanage Proctor! Anyway, that's it, that's the end of it, that's the fuckin' conclusion ... CHRIST, I'D'VE WISHED TO- [catches himself] Though probably she'd'a thrown be overboard anyway, but I'd'a wished to get to that fuckin' ship. But I was bein' restrained. I couldn't get from where she'd left me. He held me to that bed, her callin' from the ship that had changed her mind.
Dolly [quietly]: I don't like it either.
Al Swearengen: No, huh? ... What?
Dolly: When they hold you down.
Al Swearengen: I guess I do that, huh, with your fuckin' hair?
Dolly: No
Al Swearengen: No?... Well, bless you for a fuckin' fibber.

[Wu is explaining his problem to Al by drawing pictures]
Mr. Wu: Bok Gwai Lo... cocksucka!
Al Swearengen: Yeah, glad I taught you that fuckin' word. These are whites, huh?
Mr. Wu: White cocksucka! [shows empty bag]
Al Swearengen: Two white cocksuckers killed him and stole the dope that he was bringing to you.
Mr. Wu: White cocksucka! You, Swedgin.
Al Swearengen: [suddenly enraged] The dope that you were gonna fuckin' sell to me?
Mr. Wu: White cocksucka.
Al Swearengen: These two white cocksuckers? Who the fuck did it?
Mr. Wu: Wu?
Al Swearengen: "Who," you ignorant fuckin' chink!
Mr. Wu: Wu!
Al Swearengen: Who? Who? Who stole the fucking dope?
Mr. Wu: Cocksucka!
Al Swearengen: Aw, Jesus.

Cy Tolliver: Now that's an attitude right there I want us to counsel on. Smart-alecky sort of attitude and almost with a quality of.. fuckin' anger to it. I don't find the exact fuckin' words for it, but it fuckin' disturbs and concerns me.
Francis Wolcott: By my lights, I feel I manage well.
Cy Tolliver: Well, you can say that, Mr. Wolcott, yet I hear accounts that you're a dangerous lay, and that adds to my feeling disturbed. Are you inclined, sir, every so often to.. 'ride one off the cliff'? Girls, I mean.
Francis Wolcott: I am disturbed at my private conduct being spoken of.
Cy Tolliver: Well, I should think you fuckin' would be. And to think of Mr. Hearst's disturbance if he was to fuckin' know. Because, that's a dangerous habit to indulge when you're not among friends.
Francis Wolcott: Are you my friend, Mr. Tolliver?
Cy Tolliver: And someone past surprise at habits or inclination, or turns of events, and who don't confuse himself far as sitting in judgment with our Lord in fuckin' heaven.
Francis Wolcott: I see
Cy Tolliver: And who would never tattle to your employer or jeopardize what's got to be a handsome fuckin' income. God damn right, I am your friend, Mr. Wolcott. All I can't provide for the party is the cliff.
Francis Wolcott: Believing yourself past surprise does not commend you to me as a friend. A man inadequately sophisticated or merely ignorant, or simply stupid, may believe himself past surprise, then be surprised to discover, for example, that Mr. Hearst already knows of my inclinations and finds them immaterial. Suggesting as a corollary that your skills for blackmail and manipulation no longer are assets to you, and for your fatuous belief in their efficacy, in fact have become liabilities. In short, you've overplayed your hand. Now I should think, in consequence, now recognizing yourself as a man past his time, that during this last transitional period you would devote yourself with grateful and quiet diligence to such uses as others may still find you suitable.

A.W. Merrick: How many memories, fond to their recollection, have their setting in that tight little dining room?
Charlie Utter: Yeah, well it's fucked now.
Seth Bullock: Anyways, we gotta open soon.
A.W. Merrick: Who would argue that the venue was the cause of these happy memories, nor the bill of fare? The bitter coffee, the rancid bacon, those stale biscuits that were tomb and grave to so many insects. No, gentlemen, it was the meandering conversation, the lingering with men of character - some of whom are walking with me now - that was such pleasure to experience, and such a joy now to recall.
Sol Star: Good of you to say, Mr. Merrick.
Charlie Utter: Yeah”¦ back atcha, as far as”¦ that goes.
Seth Bullock: Yeah.

A.W. Merrick: A. W. Merrick, Mr. Langrishe, publisher of "The Deadwood Pioneer."
Jack Langrishe: Ah! Accounting for the halo I see above you.
Al Swearengen: Shit blizzard's early today.

A.W. Merrick: It was gunfire, and it came from your saloon.
Al Swearengen: Has not the press a duty, Merrick, qualifying its accounts in time of war?
A.W. Merrick: Are we at war now here in the camp? Has that fact been suppressed as well? Absent formal declaration, Al, information which affects this community is not my prerogative to disseminate. To do so is my sacred responsibility.
Al Swearengen: Whores currently disseminating a dose, for example?
A.W. Merrick: To inform within decency's limits. We've had this discussion before.
Al Swearengen: Citizens better die postulating than touch indecent ink.
A.W. Merrick: Make a list of the infected whores and account for this morning's gunfire, and I'll publish it all.
Al Swearengen: I won't, fucking Merrick, because neither's to my fucking interests.

Al Swearengen: [on Bullock and his affair with Alma] He don't know if he's breathing or taking it in through fucking gills; he is that fucking cunt-struck. They're afloat in some fairy fucking bubble, lighter than air. Him, her snatch and his stupid fucking badge.