Juba: It’s somewhere out there; my country, my home. My wife is preparing food. My daughter is carrying water from the river. Will I ever see them again? I think no.
Maximus: Do you believe you will see them again when you die?
Juba: Yes I think I will. I will die soon. They will not die for many years. I have to wait.
Maximus: But you would…wait?
Juba: Of course.
Maximus: You see, my wife and my son are already waiting for me.
Juba: You will meet them again. But not yet. Not yet.

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Maximus: It’s the frost, it sometimes makes the blade stick.

Quintus: These barbarians would rather drown in blood than yield an inch. If I didn’t hate them so much I would admire them.

Marcus: Maximus, you prove your valor again. Let us hope for the final time here.
Maximus: I don’t think there’s anyone left to fight.
Marcus: There are always people left to fight.

Quintus: People should know when they’re conquered.
Maximus: Would you, Quintus? Would I?

Proximo: Some of you are thinking that you won’t fight. Others, that you can’t fight. They all say that until they’re out there. Listen. Thrust this into another man’s flesh. They will applaud and love you for that. And you, you may begin to love them for that. Ultimately we’re all dead men. Sadly, we cannot choose how, but we can decide how we meet that end, in order that we are remembered as men.