A lot of the critique of our growing mechanization was actually at its strongest, and arguably at its most perceptive, during the late '60s.

And yet, in each human coupling, a thousand million sperm vie for a single egg. Multiply those odds by countless generations, against the odds of your ancestors being alive; meeting; siring this precise son; that exact daughter... Until your mother loves a man she has every reason to hate, and of that union, of the thousand million children competing for fertilization, it was you, only you, that emerged. To distill so specific a form from that chaos of improbability, like turning air to gold... that is the crowning unlikelihood. The thermodynamic miracle.

You know what I wish? I wish all the scum of the Earth had one throat and I had my hands about it.

I didn't put you in a prison, Evey. I just showed you the bars.

When I hear alcoholics talk about having their demons, I think that they're probably absolutely literally correct.

This is an IMAGINARY STORY...aren't they all?

I suppose that the main drive is to find the edge of something and then throw myself over it.