Hugo Weaving (back to the H list / W list)

Elrond: Nine companions... So be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring.

Pippin: Great. Where are we going?

Sam: Mr. Frodo's not going anywhere without me.

Elrond: No, indeed. It is hardly possible to separate you even when he is summoned to a secret Council and you are not.

Agent Smith: Surprised to see me?

Neo: No.

Agent Smith: Then you're aware of it.

Neo: Of what?

Agent Smith: Our connection. I don't fully understand how it happened, perhaps some part of you imprinted on to me, something overwritten or copied, it is at this point irrelevant. What matters is whatever happened, happened for a reason.

Neo: And what reason is that?

Agent Smith: I killed you Mr. Anderson, I watched you die, with a certain satisfaction I might add. And then something happened. Something that I knew was impossible but it happened anyway. You destroyed me Mr. Anderson. Afterward, I knew the rules, I understood what I was supposed to do, but I didn't. I couldn't. I was compelled to stay, compelled to disobey. And now here I stand because of you Mr. Anderson, because of you, I am no longer an Agent of this system, because of you I've changed, I'm unplugged, a new man so to speak. Like you, apparently, free.

Neo: Congratulations.

Agent Smith: Thank you. But, as you well know appearances can be decieving, which brings me back to the reason why we're here. We are not here because we're free, we're here because we are not free. There is no escaping reason, no denying purpose, because as we both know, without purpose, we would not exist.

Multiple Smiths: It is purpose that created us. Purpose that connects us. Purpose that pulls us, that guides us, that drive us. It is purpose that defines, purpose that binds us.

Agent Smith: We are here because of you Mr. Anderson. We're here to take from you what you tried to take from us. Purpose.

Bane: Oh God.

Agent Smith: Smith will suffice.

Agent Smith: Still using all the muscles except the one that matters?

Agent Smith: I want everything.

Morpheus: Would that include a bullet from this gun?

The Oracle: You are a bastard.

Agent Smith: You would know, Mom.

Agent Smith: Mr. Anderson, welcome back. We've missed you. You like what I've done with the place?

Neo: It ends tonight.

Agent Smith: I know, I've seen it. That's why the rest of me is just going to enjoy the show, because we all know I'm the one who beats you.

Agent Smith: Why, Mr. Anderson? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more than just your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desparately to justify an existence that is without meaning or porpose. And all of them as artificial as the Matrix itself, although only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You must be able to see it, Mr. Anderson. You must know it by now. You can't win. It's pointless to keep fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why?! Why do you persist?!

Neo: Because I choose to.

Agent Smith: Can you hear me, Morpheus? I'm going to be honest with you. I... hate this place, this zoo, this prison, this reality, whatever you want to call it. I can't stand it any longer. It's the smell, if there is such a thing. I feel saturated by it. I can taste your stink. And every time I do I feel I have somehow been infected by it. It's repulsive, isn't it? I must get out of here. I must get free and in this mind is the key, my key. Once Zion is destroyed there is no need for me to be here, don't you understand? I need the codes. I have to get inside Zion, and you have to tell me how. You're going to tell me, or you're going to die.

Agent Smith: I'd like to share a revelation that I’ve had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species, and I realised that humans are not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment; but you humans do not. Instead you multiply, and multiply, until every resource is consumed. The only way for you to survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern... a virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer on this planet, you are a plague, and we... are the cure.

Agent Smith: Find them and destroy them!

Megatron: All I want is to be back in charge. And besides, who would you be without me, Prime?

Optimus Prime: Time to find out.

Evey Hammond: You're getting back at them for what they did to you?

V: What they did to me was monstrous.

Evey Hammond: And they created a monster.

V: Remember, remember, the fifth of November, The gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.

V: Voilà! In view, a humble vaudevillian veteran, cast vicariously as both victim and villain by the vicissitudes of Fate. This visage, no mere veneer of vanity, is it vestige of the vox populi, now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by-gone vexation, stands vivified, and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violation of volition. The only verdict is vengeance; a vendetta, held as a votive, not in vain, for the value and veracity of such shall one day vindicate the vigilant and the virtuous. Verily, this vichyssoise of verbiage veers most verbose so let me simply add that it's my very good honor to meet you, and you may call me V.

Evey Hammond: Are you like a crazy person?

V: I'm quite sure they will say so.

Creedy: Die! Why won't you die?

V: Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. There is an idea, Mr. Creedy - and ideas are bulletproof.

Evey Hammond: Who...who are you?

V: Who? Who is but the form following the function of what. And what I am, is a man in a mask.

Evey Hammond: I can see that.

V: Of course you can. I'm not questioning your powers of observation, I'm merely remarking on the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.

Lawrence Talbot: I get your implication, and resent it. You're clearly aware of my personal history, as I believe I'm aware of yours. Weren't you in charge of the ripper case a couple of years back?

Abberline: You're a direct man. So I'll be equally direct with you. I am not your enemy, Mr. Talbot. You've been seen as Hamlet, Macbeth, Richard III, all with that same face. A prudent man would ask who else might be living inside that head of yours?