The Sicilian

Salvatore Giuliano:
Have you ever had a bullet hit you?

Abbot Manfredi:
I'm a Franciscan, not a Jesuit!

Prince Borsa:
Why are you so eager for people to love you?

Salvatore Giuliano:
Why are you so eager for them to hate you?

Prince Borsa:
Hate me? They don't. They can't. I'm the prince. I'm like the south wind from Africa, I've always been here. You haven't.

Pisciotta:
We don't get that ransom soon you won't be here much longer.

Prince Borsa:
Then my son will be the prince, and the south wind goes on.

Pisciotta:
I hate you people! What you've done to us.

Prince Borsa:
You don't hate me. You hate not being me. But if you were born me, you would have never been you. So you can take my money, my life, but you can never be me.

Salvatore Giuliano:
That's metaphysics, Aspanu.

Pisciotta:
That's horseshit, Giuliano.

Prince Borsa:
That's life, gentlemen.

Don Masino Croce:
I'm not much of a reader. Mathematics - a mystery, or I can add, of course, and subtract...

Hector Adonis:
...and divide!

Don Masino Croce:
You flatter me.

Salvatore Giuliano:
[as he draws circles in the dust with a stick] What about the people?

Abbot Manfredi:
The people? They are the dust you draw your circles in. THOSE are the people! Sicilians are hopeless. I mean exactly that! Nothing changes here... EVER!

Pisciotta:
I hate political women. So does Giuliano.

Cpl. Silvestro Canio:
Aren't you a bit young to be declaring war on Rome?

Salvatore Giuliano:
At my age Alexander the Great had conquered half the world. They called him "Fire from Heaven."

Cpl. Silvestro Canio:
Alexander? He wasn't a Sicilian like you an me. There's no fire in our heaven to fall.

Giovanna Ferra:
Why don't you run for president of Sicily?

Salvatore Giuliano:
I've killed too many people - maybe not enough.

Salvatore Giuliano:
You're an American, aren't you?

Camilla, Duchess of Crotone:
Yes, and like every other Sicilian you want to go to America and start a pizzaria in Jersey.

Hector Adonis:
Dream of gold, my boy.

[last lines]

Don Masino Croce:
[by Guiliano's grave] Why couldn't he... why wouldn't he come to me?

Hector Adonis:
Why should he? He was his own father. He invented himself. You and I... now... [he sobs]... He's gone.

Don Masino Croce:
What next?... What next?

Hector Adonis:
There is nothing next. There never is... here!