Max Payne Quotes 2.0

I'd been shot more times than I could remember, but this felt different. Maybe fate was sending me a message.

I don't know why I did it, I guess I never liked seeing girls get hit, but from that moment, I was dead in that town.

I was getting dressed to go and see people who wouldn't care.

Well, your "powerful" people aren't gonna help you out of this one, buddy!

I could't feel my arm anymore. I couldn't feel much of anything, which was the way I liked it.

Nice that no one was shooting at me for a change. But I'd take a shot in the head over a slow roast on a spit any day of the goddamn week.

A winter storm warning is in effect in the whole tri-state area as both freezing rain and heavy snow continue.

When entertainment turns into a surreal reflection of your life, you're a lucky man if you can laugh at the joke. Luck and I weren't on speaking terms. Or maybe the place was just too lame to be funny.

I didn't even remember which woman I was remembering. In some ways, maybe it didn't matter? Was it my mother? Rose, my only child? Michelle, my wife, my future? Or Mona, that perfect and seemingly inmortal harpy? In the end, they all left me...

Clear as vodka.

One thing left to do. I was compelled to give Vlad his gun back. One bullet at a time.

That kind of pain follows you around forever - the constant shadow of a wasted life.

I felt dumb and exposed. I missed the booze. Not that it mattered, sober or drunk I was hardly undercover.

Bad things happened in the night, on the streets of that other city. Noir York City.

The world was getting too small for comfort.

I knew this was a bad idea, but in the absence of any good ideas, I continued forward.

I'd been shot more times than I could remember, but this felt different. Maybe fate was sending me a message. Trying to tell me my luck was finally about to run out. Or maybe I just severed an artery and was bleeding out like any number of fools who got shot playing with guns.

They had been spying on me for days, weeks, months even. My every action observed, recorded, analyzed. The proof every paranoic dreams of.

B.B. turned out to be another cardboard cut-out bad guy. A bad cop on the take. A cowardly right-hand man fleeing from the scene, leaving his paid thugs to do his dirty work.

I woke up in a cold sweat, sick and tired to the bone, lying in a puddle of my own puke.