May I say, Dan, having resumed drinking alcohol, I cannot for the life of me remember why I ever gave it up.
S1Plague
I'd rather try touching the moon than take on a whore's thinking.
I take it you've been out on a hoot?
I've been drunk awhile; correct. What the fuck is that to you?
The question was well meant. Like if you was a farmer, I'd ask ya how the farming was going.
[on burying a dead Native] You ain't doin' him no favor. I mean his way to heaven's above ground and lookin' west.
Let's do that, then.
Don't you want to take him over the ridge? To his fuckin' Holy Ground and put him up there with his headless buddy? I mean, that's what you nearly got killed for: interfering with his big fuckin' medicine, burying his fuckin' buddy, over the fuckin' ridge!
I'm calling on the widow and the little one in her care, and if I was you I wouldn't try to stop me.
Be brief!
Be fucked!
Her gutter mouth, and the widow in an opium stupor: a conversation for the ages.
Woman lives in your fucking hotel, but you can't find pretext for pressing the offer on her claim?
I can't outflank Trixie, Al. The whore guards that widow like a mother hen.
She's dosed her with opium, priming her for your approach.
Be that as it may...
E.B., put that offer in your pocket, you knock on the widow's door.
But Trixie'll answer.
Trixie answers you tell her that I want to talk to her. Trixie leaves, you gain entry, broach the sale. Can you circumnavigate the child or must I map that for you too?
[Mutters under his breath]
What?
Nothing.
[On hearing a knock at the door] Come on in, Doc, him and me are finished. Anyway, don't play that shit where you make me drag your words outta you. Declare, or shut the fuck up.
[Explaining the markings on the horse of the native that nearly killed Bullock] The three red hands on the pony's flank was three men killed hand-to-hand. The red circle was one killed on horseback. The white lines on the pony's legs was times the heathen counted coup. With them, whether you mean to kill your man after or you're just showing off, you hit 'em with a gun butt or a stick or a club; that's counting coup. That's why he come for you instead of picking you off with an arrow, like he did your horse. [Pause] That was one bad hombre you got by, Bullock.
S1Bullock Returns to the Camp
We teach a special sweeping technique here.
[Al indicates Jewel, who is sweeping the stairs.]
Say what you're gonna say or prepare for eternal fucking silence.
Oh, do you worry for her, Dan? Wandering the muck of our thoroughfare, her tiny self all but swallowed up in horseshit?
MMiles
They're nice here. And Mr. Swearengen's funny as all hell.
You and I know how it is, Mr. Swearengen.
How what is?
She gets a square shake, or I come for you.
What if I come for you, you ready for that?
I guess I better be.
Then close your fucking store because being ready for me will take care of your waking hours and you better have someone to hand the task off to when you close your fucking eyes.
Jack McCall!
[With his back to Bullock] I'm done, I don't wanna play no more.
[Speaking to others] Bein' a loud-mouthed cunt I guess sometime since he's been here this fella who “don't wanna play no more” probably spoke of killin' Wild Bill Hickok… well, we're Bill Hickok's friends. [Everyone scrambles out of the room]
I'm Seth Bullock.
and I'm Charlie Utter
And if you got your head blown off, sitting here with your back turned, that'd be as fair a play as you gave him.
That widow ain't high.
Maybe waiting till after the service
When she'd want to get good and loaded is before the fucking service, against all the fucking carrying on. What do you think?
Makes sense.
Meaning all that whore's been telling me the last ten fucking days, about seeing the widow taking the dope, your own fucking assurances, you verify that she's loaded personally, you're both full of shit.
I checked in on the woman daily. If I was fooled, perhaps I've chosen simplemindedness, Al, over realizing a certain friend has used me as an instrument of purposes he concealed.
Say what you're gonna say or prepare for eternal fucking silence.
I don't believe you commissioned me to make an offer on the widow's claim to keep the regulators off you, Al. I think someone found something out there you want.
Assume you ain't been privy to the ins and outs of that matter for the sake of fucking conversation, huh? I mean, was I asleep, E.B., when you and me declared undying loyalty and full faith mutual disclosure, about every fucking detail of every fucking move we were ever going to make together?
You used me as a pawn, Al.
And you fucked up the game is the central fucking present issue. We agreed on 2,000, you want a fucking percentage instead?
Is that such an inconceivable proposition?
S1Suffer the Little Children
RRider
God bless you, Mr. Swearengen.
Well, not likely. But my short-term prospects have just improved.
These quotes come from Wikiquote's Deadwood pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.