V: You Sergei?
Sergei: Nice of you to ask. Lately I feel there is neon sign over my head that says "Sergei who fuck with Tiger Claws."

Man dies the way he was born: soft, weak and helpless. Death, the one certainty in this universe of chaos, can be both a tragic end and a release from suffering, It can come as an unexpected twist, or as a beautiful, crowning counterpart to a live well lived. The curse we face as humanity, the only living beings in constant awareness of death, is our inordinate focus on the fact. How much happier is the life of the gazelle that escapes the cheetah's clutches, thinking that it evaded death once and for all, than the poor soul living out his days knowing each step inches him closer to the void!

If planting bombs net enough, what can you do? You become bomb.

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: 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.