Why did you strike me?
To secure your attention.
S1Suffer the Little Children
AGAlma Garrett
[on her claim] Is the technical term "bonanza"? [Seth nods] It's a bonanza, Mr. Farnum.
Dan's a fucking expert. When he's not shit-faced drunk, so's Ellsworth.
My oath on this: every day that the widow sits on her ass in New York City, looks west at sunset and thinks to herself "God bless you ignorant cocksuckers in Deadwood, who do strive mightily and at little money to add to my ever-increasing fortune," she'll be safe from the wiles of Al Swearengen.
S1No Other Sons or Daughters
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.
The direction of my thoughts--with the sustained fucking stupidity that you're exhibiting, I hesitate to voice them--is that you might want to train for Phil's former position.
Al... I have hoped for this conversation ever since you give me that Indian head to hide.
[coming down the stairs] Hey, Al. Any reason I can't share with Dan the, uh, proceedings of the talk me and you just had about me, uh, takin' over for Persimmon Phil?
Yeah, keep Dan in the dark.
[Johnny looks at Al, crestfallen.]
Hey, Johnny.
Dan.
What's new?
[Johnny looks down sadly and says nothing.]
This is God's purpose, but not knowing the purpose is my portion of suffering.
If this is His will, He is a son of a bitch.
This is God's purpose. The not knowing the purpose is my portion of suffering.
And is there any pain competing with the not knowing?
I'm not in pain. There are new smells I smell, and there are parts of my body I can't feel, and His—and His love.
And you want to continue like this?
As he long as He wills, this must be my part. To be afraid, as well.
Well, if this is His will, Reverend, He is a son of a bitch.
S1Mister Wu
[Wu is explaining his problem to Al by drawing pictures]
WMr. Wu
Bok Gwai Lo... cocksucka!
Yeah, glad I taught you that fuckin' word. These are whites, huh?
WMr. Wu
White cocksucka! [shows empty bag]
Two white cocksuckers killed him and stole the dope that he was bringing to you.
WMr. Wu
White cocksucka! You, Swedgin.
[suddenly enraged] The dope that you were gonna fuckin' sell to me?
WMr. Wu
White cocksucka.
These two white cocksuckers? Who the fuck did it?
WMr. Wu
Wu?
"Who," you ignorant fuckin' chink!
WMr. Wu
Wu!
Who? Who? Who stole the fucking dope?
WMr. Wu
Cocksucka!
Aw, Jesus.
Anything the mayor should know?
The name of another tailor.
As damp as your hands are, why do you continuously lick your fuckin' thumb?
Habit, I suppose.
Could you learn the habit of lickin' a fuckin' stump?
You can't slit the throat of everyone whose character it would improve.
[to Adams] Get a fuckin' haircut. Looks like your mother fucked a monkey.
How many memories, fond to their recollection, have their setting in that tight little dining room?
Yeah, well it's fucked now.
Anyways, we gotta open soon.
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.
Good of you to say, Mr. Merrick.
Yeah… back atcha, as far as… that goes.
Yeah.
These quotes come from Wikiquote's Deadwood pages and are available under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.