Connor Rooney: I can look after myself.
Frank Nitti: No, you can't! This is the point. You're a big baby who doesn't know his thumb from his dick.
Betty the Waitress: So what brings you guys to the middle of nowhere?
Michael Sullivan, Jr.: We're bank robbers.
Peter Sullivan: Why are you always smiling?
Connor Rooney: 'Cause it's all so fuckin' hysterical.
John Rooney: Natural law. Sons are put on this earth to trouble their fathers.
Michael Sullivan, Jr.: I couldn't do it.
Michael Sullivan: I know.
John Rooney: I curse... the fucking... day... you were born. I curse it.
Maguire: I'm something of a rarity.
Alexander Rance: What do you think you're going to accomplish by interfering with our business, Mr. Sullivan?
Michael Sullivan: This has nothing to do with your business.
Alexander Rance: It's all business. That's what you fail to grasp. And in business, you must have something to trade. And you, Mr. Sullivan, have nothing to trade. Especially not for anyone as valuable as Connor Rooney.
John Rooney: May you get to Heaven an hour before the Devil knows you're dead.
John Rooney: You would like to apologize? Try again.
Michael Sullivan, Jr.: What are you going to do?
Michael Sullivan: Just one last thing, and then it's done.
Alexander Rance: This is Mr. Rance in the bridal suite and before you proffer your phony congratulations there is no Mrs. Rance residing with me and I'm all the better for it. Now, listen carefully because I am in no mood. I'm going to say this only once. I would like a boiled egg and I want it runny.
Michael Sullivan: So what does the clutch do?
Michael Sullivan, Jr.: It clutches.
Michael Sullivan: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry.
Answer: He was doing a hot rail. If you heat up cocaine in a glass until it burns, you then inhale the smoke left behind.