Evelyn: You look like shit, but at least you're standing up, so that's an improvement.
Dom Hemingway: And that, my friends, is how you open a safe.
Hugh: Whatever happened to you it sure wasn't pretty.
Dom Hemingway: Misfortune. Misfortune befell me.
Dom Hemingway: I should fucking kill you, but I fancy a pint instead.
Lestor: See, there is a part of me that wants to put you in the trunk of my sister's Prius, drive you up to Canvey Island and bury you up to your thick fucking neck, cover your fat fucking face in hamburger patties and let the creatures of the night eat you to death while I watch.
Dom Hemingway: Oh, my head is throbbing. It's fuckin' throbbin', Dickie. Like a disco in my head. Like a fucking Manila disco full of transvestites and suckling pigs.
Paolina: I don't know who this man is.
Dom Hemingway: Oh. I'll tell you who I am. I'm the fucker who'll tear your nose off with my teeth. I'm the fucker who will gut you with a dull cheese knife and sing Gilbert and Sullivan while I do it. I'm the fucker who'll dump your dead body in a freezing cold lake and watch you sink to the bottom like so much shit. I am that fucker. That's the fucker who I am.
Dom Hemingway: I'm Dom. Dom is English for "unlucky son of a bitch."
