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

Work for yourself, live for yourself. That's the only way.

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.

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Łasice pozdrawiają wilki

Weasels salute the wolves

T-Bug: "The greatest crimes issue from a desire for excess and not from necessity."
Jackie: Say what now?
T-Bug: Aristotle. Guess you read me, then?
Jackie: Yeah, I read you. Not so much your Greek friend, though it was kind of exciting.