Nobody: It is strange that you do not remember any of your poetry, William Blake.
Nobody: What name were you given at birth, stupid white man?
Train Fireman: I'll tell you one thing for sure... I wouldn't trust no words written down on no piece of paper, especially from no Dickinson out in the town of Machine... you're just as likely to find your own grave.
Conway Twill: Jesus, Cole, he's just a kid. Cole Wilson: Now he's a Navajo mud toy.
Benmont Tench: Who are you travelin' with? William Blake: Uhm... Nobody.
William Blake: I... smell... beans...
Nobody: Did you kill the white man who killed you? William Blake: I'm not dead. Am I?
Big George: I don't give a shit who saw what, and who did what, or who did who.
Big George: By God, I'm hit. Lord have mercy. Burns like hellfire. You son of a bitch. I'm gonna have to kill somebody now.
Big George: That's terrible. Sally: It's horrible. Big George: Terrible is what it is.
Big George: Well Sally, I don't give a pig's ass what anybody says, I still say you make a hell of a pot of beans.
Big George: You know I just, I can't drink whiskey like I usetacould. My old belly just ain't no count. I get the shits every time don't you know.
Nobody: You are being followed, William Blake. William Blake: Are you sure? How do you know? Nobody: Often the evil stench of white man precedes him.
Cole Wilson: [seeing a dead marshal's head lying on a woodpile] Looks like a goddamn religious icon!
Nobody: You were a poet and a painter, William Blake. But now, you're a killer of white men.
Train Fireman: That doesn't explain why you've come all the way out here... all the way out here to hell.
Train Fireman: Look... they are shooting buffalo, government says... it killed a million of 'em last year alone.
Conway Twill: 'Course you can't put much stock in a man who spends the most part of a conversation talkin' to a bear... talkin' to a goddamn bear.
