I'm the idea of the human imagination, which, when you think about it, is the only thing we can really be certain ISN'T imaginary.

There's no flesh or blood within this cloak to kill. There's only an idea. Ideas are bulletproof.

With so much chaos, someone will do something stupid. And when they do, things will turn nasty.

Yes, there is a conspiracy, in fact there are a great number of conspiracies that are all tripping each other up. And all of those conspiracies are run by paranoid fantasists and ham-fisted clowns. If you are on a list targeted by the CIA, you really have nothing to worry about. If however, you have a name similar to somebody on a list targeted by the CIA, then you are dead.

There's a notion I'd like to see buried: the ordinary person. Ridiculous. There is no ordinary person.

I'm disappointed in you, Adrian. I'm very disappointed. Reassembling myself was the first trick I learned. It didn't kill Osterman. Did you really think it would kill me? I have walked across the surface of the sun. I have witnessed events so tiny and so fast, they could hardly be said to have occurred at all. But you, Adrian, you're just a man. The world's smartest man poses no more threat to me than does its smartest termite.

There has been a rather unpleasant sensibility apparent in Frank Miller's work for quite a long time.