Hey, the American Express card! “Don’t leave home without it.”
Welcome home, neighbors.
How much for the little girl?
Fifty bucks, Grandpa. For seventy-five, the wife can watch.
I’ve got a bill of sale right here.
You’re an errand boy, sent by grocery clerks, to collect a bill.
Hey. I’m nobody’s messenger boy, alright? I’m a delivery boy.
Am I supposed to be a man?
In one life, you’re Thomas A. Anderson, program writer for a respectable software company. You have a Social Security number, you pay your taxes, and you… help your landlady carry out her garbage. The other life is lived in computers, where you go by the hacker alias “Neo” and are guilty of almost every computer crime we have a law for. One of these lives has a future, Mr. Anderson; the other does not.
“It’s pretty brilliant. What it does is where there’s a bank transaction, and the interests are computed in the thousands a day in fractions of a cent, which it usually rounds off. What this does is it takes those remainders and puts it into your account.”
“This sounds familiar.”
“Yeah. They did this in Superman III.”
You’re not your job. You’re not how much money you have in the bank.
I’m now poor. When I say I’m poor, I mean we may have to share a helicopter with another family.
They’re expecting transports, not gunships.
The safest place on this ship is right behind you.
Jack, this is where we first met!
I was born here, you know.
Welcome to the desert of the real.
Ignorance is bliss.
There is no spoon.
I can drive any forkin’ thing around.