In pubs sometimes people say things and sometimes it’s the whisky talking. It’s hard to tell which is which.
You have to get what you want, your own way.
One thing I have learned is that you and I are opposites, but also just the same. Like an image in a mirror. We hate people. And they in turn hate us. And fear us. Before the day is over, your heart will be broken just the same as mine. Men like us, Mr Shelby, will always be alone. And that love we get we will have to pay for.
— 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.
— So I'd be solving a problem for you.
— And I'd be winning you that medal.
— If I get a medal, I will have your initials engraved on my backside.
— Oh. My initials on your backside. That's quite an image.
Intelligence is a very valuable thing, innit, my friend? And usually it comes far too fucking late.
Speak. God and Aunt Polly are listening.
— The one minute. The soldier's minute. In a battle, that's all you get. One minute of everything at once. And anything before is nothing. Everything after nothing. Nothing in comparison to that one minute.
— Didn't you get enough minutes over there?