— I'm Jack Dawson.
— Rose DeWitt Bukater.
— I'll have to get you to write that one down.
But now you know there was a man named Jack Dawson... and that he saved me... in every way that a person can be saved.
Winning that ticket, Rose, was the best thing that ever happened to me... it brought me to you. And I'm thankful for that, Rose. I'm thankful.
— Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death...
— You wanna walk a little faster through that valley there?
I don't know about you, but I intend to write a strongly worded letter to the "White Star" about all of this.
— I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can't imagine Monsieur Monet blushing.
— He does landscapes.
Do you know of Dr. Freud, Mr. Ismay? His ideas of the male preoccupation with size might be of particular interest to you.
Your money can't save you anymore than it can save me.
— Tell us of the accommodations in steerage, Mr. Dawson. I hear they're quite good.
— The best I've seen, ma'am. Hardly any rats.
What? You think a first-class girl can't drink?
— You're a good liar.
— Almost as good as you. There's no... There's no arrangement, is there?
— No, there is. Not that you'll benefit much from it. I always win, Jack. One way or another.
The hardest part about being so poor was being so rich.
He exists now only in my memory.
— All life is a game of luck!
— A real man makes his own luck.
Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams, and it was. It really was.
