Our Kind of Traitor

& Dima: Come on. Don’t be a sourpussy.
    Perry: Sourpuss, actually.
    Dima: Sourpuss. Okay, don’t be a sourpuss.

& Dima: You know what the Vory is, Professor?
    Perry: No.
    Dima: It’s like mafia but with honor.

& Hector: I have some questions. Not tough. Medium soft.

& Gail: I’m reading about the Vory. That’s what Dima is, isn’t he? It describes how they recruit people in jail. They look for people who are disillusioned with their lives, people who’ve lost their way, and they give them back their sense of purpose.

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& Hector: A man launders a million pounds, he’s a crook, but a few billion, now you’re talking. Money has no smell as long as there’s enough of it.

& Dima: She’s a good woman, Gail. Keep her. You’re lucky. It’s the only thing that matters, you know. All the rest is... The rest is bullshit.

& Dima: You know how to use this?
    Perry: No.
    Dima: There’s no safety. Easy. Poof, poof, poof. And they’re dead.

& Hector: Wilfred bloody Owen, Siegfried bloody Sassoon, Robert bloody Graves.
    Perry: What about them?
    Hector: Your fabulous article in the London Review of Books. «The sacrifice of brave men cannot be justified by the pursuit of an unjust war.» It’s bloody marvelous.

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On the IMDb