— You know, there are days <...> that I really wish I'd let you take that bullet in France.
— Believe me, there are nights I wish you had.
— She found a list of names left in the telegraph machine. And on that list was your name and my name together. What kind of a list would have the name of a communist and the name of the bookmaker side by side?
— Perhaps it's a list of men who give false hope to the poor. The only difference between you and me, Freddie, is that, sometimes... my horses stand a chance of winning.
— You loaded Ada with your bastard because she's a Shelby. You thought it'd mean you'd be somebody. I won't let you fuck up my sister's life for your cause.
— My God. You actually believe that. I love her, Tommy. I've loved her since she was nine and I was twelve. And she loves me the same. You even know the word?
— Let's have a show of hands from all those who fought in France. All those who stood side by side with your comrades, and watched your comrades fall. Raise your hands. The blood shed on Flanders Fields. The sweat of your brows. Who reaps the rewards? Is it you?
— No!
— Is it your wives?
— No, no.
— Well, who then? Do they stand among us?
— No!
— Or do they sit at home, comfortable, with a full belly? While you scrape to find enough to put shoes on your children's feet! And what is the reward they offer you for your sacrifices made? A fucking cut in your wages! That is your reward!