Chemist: Your usual amount, Mr. Paladin?
Paladin: That's right.
Chemist: That will be four dollars a dozen.
Paladin: The usual guarantee.
Chemist: Underwritten by Lloyds of London. If this powder explodes in your hands--ten thousand dollars for the loss of each limb and fifteen thousand for the loss of your eyesight, heh, heh. Of course, you don't stand a chance of, uh, cashing in. As long as you don't overload the cartridges. this powder is as stable as the Rock of Gibraltar.
Paladin: Now, you know I always use a Berdan primer.
Chemist: That, Mr. Paladin, is an unnecessary luxury.
Paladin: Well, shooting a man creates a rather intimate relationship, and I hate to be thrifty at another man's expense.
Chemist: It's your money.
Paladin: "The jest that gives no pain is no jest."
Walter B. Jonas M. D.: Cervantes. That and five cents will buy you a glass of beer.
Caleb: I don't like to brag, Mister, but if it wasn't for me to put a little ginger into things, this town'd shrivel up and die of tedium.
Paladin: Well, I trust your fellow citizens appreciate what you're doing for them.
Caleb: You look for appreciation in this world, Mister, you're bound to die a disappointed man. No, sir. I get my satisfaction out of a job well done.
Nora: I knew you'd be a friend to him.
Paladin: I am not a friend to your husband. I don't like practical jokers. The only thing worse I know is somebody whose lack of humor permits them to kill.