don Garcia :: “We cannot take him to the crematorium or to the undertaker.  Cobos knows how to create a pyre.”

Rick:  “Well is someone going to say something?”

“We all gonna stand here with our dicks in our hands?”

Sam:  “I think you ought to start boss.”

Zup:   “Sam, you knew him best.”

Django:  “Ok, papillons, I’ll start”

don Garcia arrives w Lorca’s sister

Sam:  “Fred was a good man … not in a fight …

Zup:  “C’est vrai.”

Sam:  “But he sure knew where to get the best weed.”

Django:  “Sam, that fairy could play you under the table, Sam.”

Alain:  “How many times I wished he’d accept my offer so I could have a piano player that doesn’t have hams for hands.”

Rick:  “Well now, Sam, what have you got to say to our un-washed gypsy for that?”

Zup:  “Django, easy, now’s not the time.”

Django:  “When’s the time?  Too soon?  He was a true mar icon, but i love him like a brother — so long as he stayed out of my pants.”

Rick:   “At ease, you dumbs hits, here comes don Garcia.”

Cobos:  “don Garcia, we are all here.  please pardon our coarse appearance.  it does not reflect our respect for your son.”

don Garcia:  “Pastor Cobos, caballeros, your presence more than suffices, and your love for my son, and the risks you’ve taken in his name … and you fixed my favorite truck and bury my son.

Spain’s hard times have begun, again.  Spain will be a land of soiled soil.

Pastor Cobos, please find kind words for my son’s soul, as we realize his ashes.”

Zup:  “They smell worse than those filthy gypsy cigarettes.”

Django: “Cabrón!”

don Garcia:  “This land of ours will be toxic until long after Franco is dead, until long after I am dead.  During this time, I want my son above the fray that comes our way … Spain’s soul, Spain’s soul will wear the stain for decades to come, as it has La Inquisicion.  As he is dead, so I am dead.”

Cobos:  “The earth shall have its dust, it shall demand its cleansing, it must be paid.  It shall take the ashes of the beautiful ones, our beautiful ones, to leaven the blood from the soil.”

Then he reached down and slit the throat of the lamb he held in his arms.

Cobos:  “No hay la sangre mas pura de la cuale del cordero.”

He held the lamb like a baby, blood soaked his tunic, ran down his arm, between his fingers and like a stream off his fingertips.

Used the donkey named “El Perrito” to carry his remains, the bones, home.

Django:  “Ce papillon simple, je l’ai dit que rester au Paris.”

Zup:  “Et si ne pas Paris, Madrid.”

Django:  “Certainement, la Paris c’est mieux si l’une es le negro ou la papillon.”

don Garcia:  “My son wrote of a beloved Spain, that has lots its way, perhaps it shall return.  Who can say?”

doña Garcia:  “Return my son when Franco is dead, when I am dead, and my country is of good mind.”

don Garcia: “Until this foolishness is over.”

Cobos:  “Perhaps like the Bee-Eater, the Gypsy, the Jew, it shall return.”