Fabrizio: I can see the Statue of Liberty already!… Very small, of course.
Jack: Never let go.
Rose: I’ll never let go. I’ll never let go, Jack.
Molly Brown: You shine up like a new penny.
Jack: I don’t know about you, but I intend on writing a strongly worded letter to the White Star Line about all of this.
Jack: I’m Jack Dawson.
Rose: Rose De Witt Bukater.
Jack: I’m gonna have to get you to write that one down.
Old Rose: It’s been 84 years, and I can still smell the fresh paint. The china had never been used. The sheets had never been slept in. Titanic was called the Ship of Dreams, and it was. It really was.
Rose: When the ship docks, I’m getting off with you.
Jack: This is crazy…
Rose: I know… it doesn’t make any sense. That’s why I trust it.
Old Rose: Afterward, the seven hundred people in the boats had nothing to do but wait: wait to die, wait to live, wait for an absolution which would never come.
Rose: It’s so unfair.
Ruth: Of course it’s unfair. We’re women. Our choices are never easy.
Male Passenger: Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…
Jack: You want to walk a little faster through that valley there?
Rose: I don’t see what all of the fuss is about. It doesn’t look any bigger than the Mauritania.
Cal Hockley: You can be blasé about some things, Rose, but not about Titanic. It’s over a hundred feet longer than the Mauritania and far more luxurious.
Jack: Well, yes, ma’am, I do… I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. I got air in my lungs, a few blank sheets of paper. I mean, I love waking up in the morning not knowing what’s gonna happen or, who I’m gonna meet, where I’m gonna wind up. Just the other night I was sleeping under a bridge and now here I am on the grandest ship in the world having champagne with you fine people. I figure life’s a gift and I don’t intend on wasting it. You don’t know what hand you’re gonna get dealt next. You learn to take life as it comes at you… to make each day count.
Jack: I’m the king of the world!
Ruth: So this is the ship they say is unsinkable.
Cal Hockley: It is unsinkable. God himself could not sink this ship.
Rose: I believe you are blushing, Mr. Big Artiste. I can’t imagine Monsieur Monet blushing.
Jack: He does landscapes.
Tommy Ryan: Music to drown by. Now I know I’m in first class.
Thomas Andrews: The pumps will buy you time, but minutes only. From this moment on, no matter what we do, Titanic will founder.
Ismay: But this ship can’t sink!
Thomas Andrews: She is made of iron, sir. I assure you, she can. And she will. It is a mathematical certainty.
Cal Hockley: You’re a good liar.
Jack: Almost as good as you.
Jack: That’s the one good thing about Paris: there’s a lot of girls willing to take their clothes off.
Old Rose: I saw my whole life as if I had already lived it. An endless parade of parties and cotillions, yachts and polo matches. Always the same narrow people, the same mindless chatter. I felt like I was standing at a great precipice, with no one to pull me back, no one who cared… or even noticed.
Cal Hockley: God, not those finger paintings again. They certainly were a waste of money.
Rose: The difference between Cal’s taste in art and mine is that I have some. They’re fascinating. It’s like being inside a dream or something. There’s truth but no logic.
Rose: I know what you must be thinking. “Poor little rich girl, what does she know about misery?”
Jack: No, no, that’s not what I was thinking. What I was thinking was, what could’ve happened to this girl to make her feel she had no way out?