Guy Ritchie

Not very good at this whole subtlety thing, are you?

Take another left through the window... after you.

Are they still following us?… Is there one of them?… Is he looking at us?… Does he have just one hand on the steering wheel?… When you hear something that sounds like a gunshot, drive.

I wonder if it was your father's shame that gave you such drive... Or was it your mother's reputation? I understand that she was extremely popular amongst your father's friends...

We're working with the Russians. It doesn't get any more Russian than the Red Peril here!

If I have 15 minutes, we'd drink tea, eat biscuits. I talk, you laugh, and we'd be on our way. Unfortunately, I don't. So, my operators, come with me now to a chic little hotel in West Berlin in less than an hour. Or, stay here and spend the night with the Russians, hang from a pipe having your toenails removed.

That warhead, although not nuclear, shouldn't have any trouble obliterating a medium-sized fishing boat. The aforementioned warhead launched… 45 seconds ago. Giving you about 30 seconds until impact.

It won't trigger a nuclear warhead, as that requires fission. So, if you do want to make good on your vow, I suggestion you abandon ship immediately.

How's that for entertainment?

Diadema, this is Napoleon Solo. Hello Victoria. I suspect that you're already listening, so I'll give you this message directly: earlier today, I killed your husband. I'd like to report that he died honorably, courageously, and selflessly... but he didn't. Instead it was a rather pitiful affair involving tears, begging, and offers to trade anything - and indeed anyone - so I would spare his life.

There is something about yourself that you don't know. Something that you will deny even exists until it's too late to do anything about it. It's the only reason you get up in the morning, the only reason you suffer the shitty boss, the blood, the sweat and the tears. This is because you want people to know how good, attractive, generous, funny, wild and clever you really are. "Fear or revere me, but please think I'm special." We share an addiction. We're approval junkies. We're all in it for the slap on the back and the gold watch. The "hip, hip, hoo-fucking-rah." Look at the clever boy with the badge, polishing his trophy. Shine on, you crazy diamond. Cos we're just monkeys wrapped in suits, begging for the approval of others.

The greatest enemy will hide in the last place you would ever look.

One thing I've learned in the last seven years: in every game and con there's always an opponent, and there's always a victim. The trick is to know when you're the latter, so you can become the former.

Oh, I know you're still there… cause I can feel you dying. I can hear you tapping me… for a little nutrition. Now who's looking for a fix? It gets a little tight in here, do you? Well, you're not wrong… cause the walls are moving in. No food here. Not today, sunshine. My eyes are open and the restaurant's closed. Jog on. Slide off. Find someone else to fill your pipe. Someone, who won't see you coming… or know, when you're there.

The longer you listen, the sweeter the pitch.

Now I've got to spend the next two minutes, shaking... and sweating... like a crack whore looking for a fix... Should have taken the stairs... cause it's getting very... very tight in here.

Gradually they thought they'd found a formula to the con. A formula to win the ultimate win.

You see that pack of Virginia killing sticks on the end of the piano?

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 glamour 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 light.

No need to worry just yet, boys. They're not going to do it while we're standing in the lift. Because then they'd have to carry the corpses to the cars, and that seems too much like hard work. In about two minutes there, Danny boy there is gonna turn and pop me two in the head, then one in the throat just to be sure. You shouldn't have brought me here, fellas, you're just going to end up as witnesses. Once they've "dealt" with us, they will put our corpses in the boot of a stolen car, then pour six gallons of petrol on the car. I'll let your imagination do the rest. Now, Danny boy here is rattled, because he knows that you know. And so, he's going to fight.

Pass me the gun, Mickey. Quickly. QUICKLY! Don't worry, he can't defend himself, he's got no head!

That was when I was a RocknRolla.

You wanna watch out, 'cause I'm gonna be just like you, uncle. Now, I'm gonna be a REAL RocknRolla.

I'm dead, Pete. What does that tell you? It tells you that dead people don't like company.

Why are you talking to the Pipe, Roman? You're madder than I am.

Well, that's got to have done some damage. All those guns, nuns, and cowboys.

Right. Let's sort the buyers from the spyers, the needy from the greedy, and those who trust me from the ones who don't, because if you can't see value here today, you're not up here shopping. You're up here shoplifting. You see these goods? Never seen daylight, moonlight, Israelite. Fanny by the gaslight. Take a bag, c'mon take a bag. I took a bag home last night. Cost me a lot more than ten pound, I can tell you. Anyone like jewelry? Look at that one there. Handmade in Italy, hand-stolen in Stepney. It's as long as my arm. I wish it was as long as something else. Don't think because these boxes are sealed up, they're empty. The only man who sells empty boxes is the undertaker, and by the look of some of you lot today, I'd make more money with me measuring tape. Here, one price. Ten pound.

Squeeze in if you can. Left leg, right leg, your body will follow. They call it walking. You want one as well, darling? You do? That's it. They're waking up. Treat the wife. Treat somebody else's wife. It's a lot more fun if you don't get caught. Hold on. You want one as well? Okay, darling, show me a bit of life then. It's no good standing out there like one o'clock half-struck. Buy them, you better buy them. These are not stolen, they just haven't been paid for, and we can't get them again. They've changed the bloody locks. Here. One for you. It's no good coming back later when I've sold out. "Too late, too late" will be the cry when the man with the bargains has passed you by. If you got no money on you now, you'll be crying tears as big as October cabbages.

Once there was this geezer called Smithy Robinson, who worked for Harry. It was rumoured that he was on the take. Harry's invited Smithy round for an explanation. Smithy didn't do a very good job. Within a minute, Harry's lost his rag, reached out for the nearest thing at hand, which happened to be a 15 inch black rubber cock. He's then proceeded to batter poor Smithy to death with it. Now that was seen as a pleasant way to go. Hence, Hatchet Harry is a man you pay if you owe.

My name is Turkish. Funny name for an Englishman, I know. My parents to be were on the same plane when it crashed. That's how they met. They named me after the name of the plane. Not many people are named after a plane crash. That's Tommy. He tells people he was named after a gun, but I know he was really named after a famous 19th century ballet dancer.

It turned out that the sweet-talking, tattoo-sporting pikey was a gypsy bare-knuckle boxing champion. Which makes him harder than a coffin nail. Right now, that's the last thing on Tommy's mind. If Gorgeous doesn't wake up in the next few minutes, Tommy knows he'll be buried with him. Why would the gypsies go through the trouble of explaining why a man died in their campsite when they can bury the pair of them and just move camp? It's not like they got social security numbers, is it? Tommy - the tit - is praying. And if he isn't, he fucking should be.

Have you ever crossed the road, and looked the wrong way? A car's nearly on you? So what do you do? Something very silly. You freeze. Your life doesn't flash before you, 'cause you're too fuckin' scared to think - you just freeze and pull a stupid face. But the pikey didn't. Why? Because he had plans of running the car over.

Tommy persuaded me to keep the dog. I eventually agreed, as long as he took it to a vet. I couldn't stand that squeaking any more. The vet found half an undigested shoe, a squeaky toy, and an 84-carat diamond lodged in its stomach. It's quite amazing what can happen in a week. Still didn't shut it up though. So what do you do? You go to see the man that knows about these sort of things.

Don't think I haven't thunk about that one, Tommy. It's his mum's funeral tonight. God bless her. You know those gypsies like a drink at a wake. I'm not worried about whether Mickey knocks the other man out. I'm worried about whether Mickey makes it to the fourth fucking round.

No Tommy, I'm not saying you can't shoot. I know you can't shoot. I'm saying that six-pound piece of shit stuck in your trousers would do more damage if you fed it to him.

Boris the Blade, or Boris "the Bullet Dodger." As bent as the Soviet sickle, and as hard as the hammer that crosses it. Apparently, it's just impossible to kill the bastard.

I don't want to go in there. He's a dangerous bastard. Taken too many disco biscuits in the heat of Russian disputations. He's got as many of these nuts as he has those nuts.

My God, Tommy, you certainly got those minerals. Well, come on, then before "zee" Germans get here.

He loves that dog. Always playing silly games.