Hearst: [noticing a stuffed buck's head on the wall] Your kill, sir?
Swearengen: Who?
Hearst: The animal.
Swearengen: Oh fuck no, I'm a fucking terrible shot. Work better closer in.

Hearst: [slaps the wall of his room in the Grand Central Hotel] These walls are coming down.
Wolcott: They'll be your walls soon.
Hearst: Ever since I was a child in Missouri I've been down ever hole I could find.
Wolcott: Boy-the-earth-talks-to.
Hearst: Yeah, I've told you, that's what the Indians call me.
Wolcott: Yes.
Hearst: It talks to you too, Francis, I know. Our time together, your hearing has stayed keen. But this gambler Tolliver, who was our agent for buying the claims has spoken to me about you. He says that you've killed women. Prostitutes. That he has disposed of the bodies for you.
Wolcott: [stunned, fumbles putting out his cigar]
Hearst: WELL!?
Wolcott: When I was in Campeche, you wrote a letter on my behalf.
Hearst: To the Jefe de Policia.
Wolcott: "I am aware of Mr. Wolcott's difficulty. You will find me personally grateful for any adjustments you may make in his case." What did you think that was about?
Hearst: I didn't think about it. You were my agent in Mexico! You had many responsibilities. You asked me for the letter and I wrote it!
Wolcott: As when the earth talks to you particularly, you never ask its reasons.
Hearst: I don't need to know why I'm lucky!
Wolcott: What if the earth talks to us to get us to arrange its amusements?
Hearst: That sounds like goddamned nonsense to me.
Wolcott: Suppose to you it whispers, "You are king over me. I exist to flesh your will."
Hearst: Nonsense.
Wolcott: And to me... "There is no sin." It happened in Mexico and now it's happened here.
Hearst: We must end our connection, you understand that, Francis. Make a severance you think is fair. You know I won't quibble. Does some spirit overtake you? Is that what you mean by the "talk"?
Wolcott: No.
Hearst: It tells me where the color is. That's all it tells me. My God.
Season Three

Hostetler: Horse run trash like that over by accident, still ain't a white man on earth gonna stand up against roping us up, now is there?
Samuel Fields: John Brown would've.

Hugo Jarry: Perhaps then, rather, at this moment--having had in fact no connection to the regrettable incident involving Mrs. Ellsworth--you are Socrates to my Alcibiades, taking it upon yourself to edify me?
George Hearst: Are you saying you want to fuck me?
Hugo Jarry: [confused] What?
George Hearst: Well, you keep calling yourself Alcibiades to my Socrates. Are you proposing some sort of a homosexual connection between us?
Hugo Jarry: I'd forgot that part of the story.

Hugo Jarry: Washington harasses us for our difficulties in distribution to the Indians, thereby distracting the nation at large from Washington's own fiscal turpitudes and miasms.
Silas: There amongst the turpitudes and miasms, you got caught stealing the money.
Hugo Jarry: The money was not stolen. There was an amount of siphoning off and certain irregularlities.
Silas: Sounds like it was regular as milking Bessie, 96ΒΆ on the dollar.
Hugo Jarry: Rank exaggeration.
Silas: If it was less than 90, you fucked generations of Indian agents to come.

Hugo: Had you vision as well as sight, you would recognize within me not only a man, but an institution and the future as well.
Steve: Fuck you, fuck the institution, and fuck the future!
Hugo: You cannot fuck the future, sir. The future fucks you.

Hugo: I do not, my friend Adams, take it up the ass... But I suspect those that do, do so because they consider they advance their own interests. Shall we not, like them, pursue our mutual gratification?

Jack Langrishe: It's the learning fuckin' nothin', Al, that keeps me young.

Jack Langrishe: The man I once was, Al, was not formidable, and I am but his shadow now. And yet I'd be put to use. A decoy, perhaps. A weight to drop on villains from above.

Jack McCall: [While playing poker] Well, that's one in a row for you, Wild Bill. Who's hungry? What in the hell damn time is it anyway?
Wild Bill: Sure you wanna quit playin', Jack? The game's all that's between you and gettin' called a cunt.
Tom Nuttall: Ah, meeting adjourned, fellas. Take it outside.
Wild Bill: That drooped eye of yours looks like the hood of a cunt to me, Jack. When you talk, your mouth looks like a cunt moving.
Jack McCall: I ain't gonna get in no gunfight with you, Hickock.
Wild Bill: But you will run your cunt mouth at me. And I will take it to play poker.

Jack McCall: Should we shake hands or something, relieve the atmosphere? I mean how stupid do you think I am?
Bill Hickok: I don't know, I just met you.

Jane: Get out of my fucking light.
Mose: It's me.
Jane: Who is me? The fucking eclipse?
Mose: Mose Manuel.
Jane: Oh, really? I thought it -- it was Giganto, the runaway circus elephant.
Mose: Miss Stubbs has been looking for you. Those kids need chaperoning to the new schoolhouse, Jane. [Jane turns away and puts her hands to her ears, shutting her eyes.] Get up and walk them kids.
Jane: Okay, Giganto! Don't tusk me to death with your tusks. [steadies herself, sheathing her gun] How long do I have to assemble myself?
Mose: They'll be ready to go in a few minutes.
Jane: Shut up.

Joanie Stubbs: Would you like a drink?
Jane: Yes. But my opening position is no.

Johnny: You say it weren't an ass fuck, I believe you.

Johnny: [coming down the stairs] Hey, Al. Any reason I can't share with Dan the, uh, proceedings of the talk me and you just had about me, uh, takin' over for Persimmon Phil?
Al Swearengen: Yeah, keep Dan in the dark.
[Johnny looks at Al, crestfallen.]
Dan: Hey, Johnny.
Johnny: Dan.
Dan: What's new?
[Johnny looks down sadly and says nothing.]