"Rugby. Tom Jones. Male Voice Choirs. Shirley Bassey. Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwyllllantisiliogogogch. Snowdonia. Prince of Wales. Anthony Hopkins. Daffodils. Sheep. Sheep Lovers. Coal. Slate Quarries. The Blaenau Ffestiniog Dinkey-Doo Miniature Railway. Now If That's Your Idea Of Thousands Of Years Of Welsh Culture, You Can't Blame Us For Trying To Liven The Place Up A Little Can You?"

"You're an iffy copper that does a little bit a this, a little bit a that, but knows where to draw the thin blue line right fuckin' wrong, don't ya, Greyo?"

"This glue is for sticking my submarines, not for sticking up your fucking noses! Don't think I don't notice, cos I do. Buy your own fucking glue!"

"I built this club up from nothing, and I fucking loves it!"

"Here's 20 nicker, now go buy yourselves a nice big tin of sticky-sticky and fuck off back to Noddyland!"

"Paolo Paoloni - Franco"

"Wilfred Xander - Belinsky"

"Lutz Winde - Ernst"

"Evelina Meghnagi - Maria"

"Sam Blitz - Matthew Trevanny"

"Chiara Caselli - Luisa Harari"

"Lena Headey - Sarah Trevanny"

"Ray Winstone - Reeves"

"Dougray Scott - Jonathon Trevanny"

"John Malkovich - Tom Ripley"

"The talented Mr Ripley is back. Older. Wiser. More dangerous"

"Older. Wiser. More Talented."

"Hold my watch, because if it breaks, I'll kill everyone on this train."

"I want you to call the man who sent you here. I want you to tell him you got a very long look at the two of us, we were definitely not the people on the train. Do you understand? If you do that, you do it convincingly, you walk out of here, we give you half a million dollars, okay? If you don't do it convincingly, I take you out back, and I run my fucking tractor over your head the rest of the day. Okay?"

"Hugh Williams as Frank Shelley, observer/navigator"

"Eric Portman as Tom Earnshaw, second pilot"

"Hugh Burden as John Glyn Haggard, pilot of B for Bertie"

"[speaking to the downed aircrew as RAF bombers approach] You see, that's what you're doing for us. Can you hear them running for shelter? Can you understand what that means to all the occupied countries? To enslaved people, having it drummed into their ears that the Germans are masters of the Earth. Seeing these masters running for shelter. Seeing them crouching under tables. And hearing that steady hum night after night. That noise which is oil for the burning fire in our hearts."

"Do you think that we Hollanders, who threw the sea out of our country, will let the Germans have it? Better the sea."

"Googie Withers as Jo de Vries"

"Godfrey Tearle as Sir George Corbett, rear gunner"

"Bernard Miles as Geoff Hickman, front gunner"

"Emrys Jones as Bob Ashley, wireless operator"

"Mark Strong - Archy"

"Thandie Newton - Stella"

"Tom Wilkinson - Lenny Cole"

"Gerard Butler - One Two"

"People ask the question... what's a RocknRolla? And I tell 'em - it's not about drums, drugs, and hospital drips, oh no. There's more there than that, my friend. We all like a bit of the good life - some the money, some the drugs, other the sex game, the glamour, or the fame. But a RocknRolla, oh, he's different. Why? Because a real RocknRolla wants the fucking lot."

"Have you ever bought a ticket to the junkie's boneyard, Roman? It's an unpleasant place, called 'curl up and die'. Might sound like a hair salon, but it don't fuckin' look like one, I can tell ya. It's a terrible sight...and a horrible sound, listening to a man [inhales] sucking his soul through the hole in the pipe. Even worse when he tries to tear it back. I've been there, and I've done that. [flashback: "He has been here, and he has done that."] And then I nailed that demon in a smoke-proof coffin, and I did it all with Johnny. I love that man; he's what you call class. And if you had any fucking brains, Roman, you'd love him too. You know his music sales have gone up 1000% in three weeks? You see, Johnny, the crackhead, knows that a rocker is worth more dead than alive...funny world, innit? Mr. Quid does not get his gear from me. He has to travel, far and wide. But do leave me a number, and if the dead feels like calling...you'll be the first to know. [winks]"

"Beauty is a cruel mistress."

"[to One Two] If I could be half the human that Bob is at the price of being a poof, I'd think about it. Not for too long, but I'de have to pause. You know?"

"Now, listen to me, boy. Listen. I never did like you, neither did your real dad. You're a reject, a wrong and a fuckin' fairy in the mirror that I inherited from your mom. But she ain't with us no more, so now it's just you and me. In one week you're going back to school. The most expensive fuckin' school in the country, I might add. Then you'll be gone for another term. In the meantime, show some gratitude and keep the fuckin' music down!!"

"And I shed a tear. I shed a tear for all those bone-tops that read the papers and believe that shit. But did you see his body? Did you see him smacked-up and cracked-up with his tongue on his chin and his cock in his hand, swinging from the rafters like a real RocknRolla? No, you didn't, did you? And nobody else fucking did either, did they? Because he ain't dead. He's alive, alive-o somewhere selling cockles and mussels and a very important painting that doesn't belong to him."

"Right, let me tell you how this works. You're going in the drink, and I'm going to have a cup of tea. Beneath your feet is the famous river Thames. I just hope for your sakes you can hold your breath for as long as it takes my kettle to boil. After that, I'm gonna ask you a question, just one question. You're gonna give me a name. And if it's the right name, I'm gonna send you home warm and dry in a fresh set of clothes. If it's the wrong name, you'll be fed to the crayfish. They're American, these crayfish. Big, hungry bastards. And like most things American, they've eaten the natives...but they've still got room for more."

"Oh bollocks. There is no school like the old school, and I'm the fucking headmaster!"

"All you need to know about life is retained in those four walls. You will notice that one of your personalities is seduced by the illusions of grandeur - the gold packet of king size with a regal insignia, an attractive implication towards grandeur and wealth, the subtle suggestion that cigarettes are indeed your royal and loyal friends, and that, Pete, is a lie. Your other personality is trying to draw your attention to the flip side of the discussion: written in boring bold black and white, it's a statement that these neat little soldiers of death are in fact trying to kill you and that, Pete, is the truth. Oh, beauty is a beguiling call to death and I'm addicted to the sweet pitch of its siren. That that starts sweet ends bitter, and that which starts bitter ends sweet. That is why you and I love the drugs, and that is also why I cannot give that painting back. Now please, pass me a lighter."