V: Nice ride. Lots of space. Practical.
Panam: Say no more. Please.
V: How the hell'd you land in this mess?
Panam: I liked the color. The air freshener and booster seat came extra.
V: You know I don't mean the car.

The wind whistling through boarded-up windows. Tumbleweeds scratching across dry, sandy tracks. That's how towns die. Not with a bang, but with whispers and whimpers.

Assessment, Assembly, Action.
Whatever your task, you do three things. Start by assessing what you already have and what you'll face, the problem. Then you plan with those variables in mind. Take what you have, get what you need, assemble things, people. Finally, you take action. Simple.

Your body can be chrome... but the heart never changes. It wants what it wants.

You can't know Night City well, ever. It's always changin', always surprisin'. Part of its charm.

He's fucked in the head, the world's fucked in the head - and you're fucked in the head 'cause MY fucked up head is inside it.
Guess if you want to save the world, that's the first step - get fucked in the head.

Some people are only nice because they're afraid of getting hurt. Or 'cause their religion tells 'em to be.

Guess even pneumatic arms can't lift morale in a toxic workplace.

Sushi in Night City...? Sounds like suicide. And somehow disrespectful.

V: Doesn't it bother you?
Ozob: What?
V: The grenade. You know, the one on your face?
Ozob: Eh, you get used to it. I just gotta be carefull not to pull the pin when I wanna pick my nose.

The wider the smile, the bigger the lies.

You ever hear the saying "No good deed goes unpunished"? You hold your hand out to someone, you get bitten. You help a poor soul in need, you get fleeced for all you're worth. Save someone's life? Fill in the blank.

What, smoking after sex not Zen enough for you? We gotta rewrite "The Art of War", too?

The boys have prepared everything and found me a lamb. Blood will course through the fiberoptics, swirling and blending with the digital, opening the gates of the abyss. Death within arm's reach, the metallic taste of his scythe on my tongue, I will tug at the tangled cables of Fate. A hard reset, a blue screen, a brain reformatted... I'm ready. Luck be with me.

Corpo or not, without chrome we all look like the same idiotic, bullet-riddled sacks of meat.