If I show up at your door, chances are you did something to bring me there.

I guess you could say I went west. You know, the way of Horatio Alger, Davy Crockett, the Donner Party...

When I left, I joined the army, and when I took the service exam my psych profile fit a certain... moral flexibility would be the only way to describe it... and I was loaned out to a CIA-sponsored program, and we sort of found each other. That's how it works.

I know what I do isn't... moral, per se...

You can never go home again, Oatman... but I guess you can shop there.

I just honestly don't know what I have in common with those people anymore... or with anyone, really. I mean, they'll all have husbands and wives and children and houses and dogs, and, you know, they'll have made themselves a part of something, and they can talk about what they do. And what am I going to say? "I killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. How have you been?" I just think it'll be depressing.

[to himself, rehearsing] "Hi! I’m Martin Blank, do you remember me? I’m not married, I don’t have any kids, and I’d blow your head off if someone paid me enough."

A thousand innocent people get killed every day, but a millionaire's pet gets detonated and you're marked for life.

Everybody's coming back to take stock of their lives. You know what I say? Leave your livestock alone.

If you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you, it's... well... broken.