The MacKintosh Man

Jervis:
How'd you scrape your knuckles?

Joseph Rearden:
Shadowboxing a lamppost. [after a pause] I got a little pissed last night.

Buster:
[offering Reardon a cigarette from his mouth in the prison yard] Here you are.

Buster:
[Reardon hesitates] Take it. I've only got syph.

Joseph Rearden:
What're you in for?

Buster:
Mopery.

Buster:
[Reardon turns around] Exposing yourself to a blind woman.

Gerda:
If there's anything else you need, just press this button here.

Joseph Rearden:
[smiling] Yeah!

Joseph Rearden:
[after a pause] I'd like a poke.

Gerda:
A poke, Mr. Reardon?

Joseph Rearden:
Yeah, a poke. You know what i mean. How about it, Stretch?

Gerda:
[smiling] I'm afraid I stopped being a woman several years ago.

Joseph Rearden:
Get someone else.

Gerda:
No, that's not possible.

Joseph Rearden:
Why not?

Gerda:
Security obviously.

Joseph Rearden:
I don't have to talk to her.

Gerda:
Well, even if she didn't speak, she would see you.

Joseph Rearden:
Put a bag over her head.

Gerda:
But you would see her.

Joseph Rearden:
Put a bag over my head. I've been in prison for 15 months!

Slade:
[musing poetically] I'm going home. [quoting poetry] 'Sleep after toil, port after stormy seas, ease after war, death after life does greatly please.'

Joseph Rearden:
[laconically] I don't know about you, Slade; I'm not ready for death. The rest I'll drink to.

Mrs. Smith:
[speaking of the gravely injured Mackintosh] There is a letter. He always writes one. It's to be given to the Prime Minister in case of his death.

Joseph Rearden:
Well, who's got it?

Mrs. Smith:
His solicitor.

Joseph Rearden:
Well, get it! Tell him it's an emergency!

Mrs. Smith:
An act of Parliament couldn't open that envelope before he dies.

Joseph Rearden:
Fly to London. Smother Mackintosh with his pillow.

Mrs. Smith:
No, I wouldn't do that. He's my father.

Sir George Wheeler:
[to Reardon] I like to study the workings of the criminal mind at close quarters whenever I have the opportunity, so please speak out.

Sir George Wheeler:
Even the best of politicians have to compromise sometimes.

Sir George Wheeler:
Our deaths would mean little or nothing to anyone, anywhere - only to ourselves.