Sir Hector:
Damn and blast my sow of a wife, God bless her!
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And all w复制复制成功复制失败，请手动复制
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ho sail in her.
Dr. Crippen:
I bear both good tidings and bad tidings. First, your wife is dead.
Sir Hector:
And the bad tidings?
Digby Geste:
We were identical twins, but somehow Beau was much more identical than me.
Sir Hector:
She just lost her seventh husband.
Beau Geste:
Lost or mislaid?
Markov:
Life is as brief as a butterfly's fart, but death is something that you have forever. From now on, you will march until you drop, and when you have dropped, you will crawl. Some may consider that I am excessively cruel, but there is a reason for this cruelty: I enjoy it!
Markov:
I have reason to believe it is secreted about his person.
Boldini:
It's not in his pockets; I have picked them.
Markov:
In that case, you will have to pick his person.
General Pecheur:
Will you shut up?!
Digby Geste:
I'm afraid I can't answer that question, sir.
[Facing a firing squad]
Digby Geste:
You expect me to talk when all I could preserve is my own measly, worthless life? TOO BLOODY RIGHT, I'LL TALK! I'll talk, I'll talk, just try and stop me!
[bidding farewell to departing soldiers]
General Pecheur:
May God go with you. *I* have better things to do.
[12 year-old Beau and Digby discussing a Viking Funeral]
Beau Geste (age 12):
A Viking funeral...Digby, will you set fire to me and bury me at sea?
Digby Geste (age 12):
Well, alright...but not until you're dead.
Beau Geste:
Medals are like hemorrhoids, Dig. Sooner or later every asshole gets one.复制复制成功复制失败，请手动复制
