The city of dreams. I'd gladly kick the balls off the idiot who thought that one up.

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.

I've always maintained it's the same for all you termites in Heywood. Born here, live her, die here.

Frank: Jenkins is your lead, right? Is he what everyone says he is?
V: What's everyone say about Jenkins?
Frank: That he's effective. Like any psychopath. Apparently, he's gone a little crazier lately.

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.