The wider the smile, the bigger the lies.

I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? 'No!' says the man in Washington, 'It belongs to the poor.' 'No!' says the man in the Vatican, 'It belongs to God.' 'No!' says the man in Moscow, 'It belongs to everyone.' I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose... Rapture, a city where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, where the great would not be constrained by the small! And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well.

Men are born, and then they're formed.

I love this time of year. The dickheads start popping up.

True love comes to die in Night City. Husbands cheat on wives - wives cheat on husbands. Then they divorce and talk behind each other's backs.