–Bottleneck like this, one of us might hold them off.
–Yeah, one of us.
–If he plays it cool. Hit and run. Stall and retreat.
–Dynamite in the hands of a fool means death.
–In this case it could mean life. Ours.
–How do you come to this dirty business?
–The usual…Money.
–My word to Grant ain’t worth a plug nickel.
–You gave your word to me.
–The old badger game.
–Shakedown partners, bed partners. Cozy.
–They had us spotted backed when we picked up their trail. Why did they sucker us into this spot?
–You’re leery about the setup too. So?
–To die for money is foolish.
–To die for a woman is more foolish. Any woman, even her.
–We’ve gotta make him think we’re the Mexican army.
–The four of us?
–A whole battalion.
–What we really need is an equalizer.
–Name it.
–A dynamiter with a delicate touch to blow out a candle without putting a dent in the candleholder.
–What’s so funny?
–People. We just killed 10 men. Nobody bats an eye. But when it comes to God’s most stupid animals…
–But harmless.
–Northing’s harmless in the desert, unless it’s dead.
–What’s the deal?
–$10,000 per man, for nine days work. More money than we ever realized out of all our crazy gold, silver and oil schemes put together.
–What’s the proposition?
–You won’t lose your pants. Your life maybe. But, what’s that?
–Hardly anything at all.
–You’re gonna have to get over this nasty habit of always losing your pants. It’s not dignified.
–It’s drafty, too.
–Your hair was darker then.
–My heart was lighter then.
-Just wondering, what makes you worth $100,000?
-Go to hell.
-Yes, ma’am. I’m on my way.
-You bastard.
-Yes, sir. In my case an accident of birth. But you, you’re a self-made man.
Amigo, we’ve been had. Let’s get the hell out of here.
Amigo, you just wrote my epitaph!
Eh, smoking is bad for de health.
Fireworks start at 5:30 sharp.
From the loyal Ortega to the devoted goatkeeper, to the faithful wife at the mercy of a brutal kidnapper. That’s one hell of a rigged parlay.
Hans Ehrengard. Ex-cavalryman, cattle boss, wrangler, bull-whacker, packmaster.
Henry ‘Rico’ Fardan. Virginia Military Academy, Philippine Campaign, Cuba with Roosevelt’s Rough Riders. Married a Mexican woman. No children. Wife deceased. Joined Pancho Villa as weapons expert and tactician…Left Villa’s forces, June, 1915. A year of wildcatting and prospecting. Results: negative. Now demostrating automatic weapons. Salary: $40 a week.
i will fuck your ass!!!
In this desert, nothing’s harmless until it’s dead.
Jacob Sharp. Specialist with rifle, rope, and longbow. Most dependable scout and tracker in the territory.
Jake, shag them for awhile. Looke them over…But just look.
Makes you wonder how we ever beat the Indians.
Mrs. Grant is a prisoner about hundred miles across this desert. A hellhole. For raza, a fortress. He was born in that desert. He and his men know every ravine, every rock, every cliff. It would take a battalion at least a month. But a few daring men…specialists, led by you, could do it in one bold, swift stroke.
Nothing is for always. Except death.
Rico, buddy, I got one of my feelings. Something dicey about this.
That, gentlemen, is the whirlingest dervish of them all.
There’s only been one revolution since the beginning. The good guys
versus the bad guys. The question is: who are the good guys?
They buried gold bullion. Two million in Spanish gold. Melted down into big, beautiful bars. Waiting for us.
We can’t fight our way in. Diversion is our only chance.
We gave our word to bring the woman back.
What else is on your mind besides one-hundred proof women, ninety
proof whiskey, and fourteen carat gold?
Your job is to make good our contract. To deliver the goods. All the way.
Page Topic: Movie Quotes from ‘Professionals, The’: Quotes from the movie ‘Professionals, The’