Some Quotes From the game Max Payne II[2003], It was not Max Payne I :(
Einstein was right. Time is relative to the observer. When you're looking down the barrel of a gun, time slows down. Your whole life flashes by, heartbreak and scars. Stay with it, and you could live a lifetime in that split second.
There are no choices. Nothing but a straight line. The illusion comes afterwards, when you ask 'Why me?' and 'What if?'. When you look back and see the branches, like a pruned bonsai tree, or forked lightning. If you had done something differently, it wouldn't be you. It would be someone else looking back, asking a different set of questions.
The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper it grows behind you, its edges yawning at your heels. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But it's like looking down into the grave of your love, or kissing the mouth of a gun, a bullet trembling in its dark nest, ready to blow your head off.
The past is a puzzle, like a broken mirror. As you piece it together, your image keeps shifting. And you change with it. It could destroy you, drive you mad. It could set you free.
Throw the rules out the window, odds are you'll go that way too
For the first time in I don't know how long, I did not wish to be dead.
The rain was comin' down like all the angels in heaven decided to take a piss at the same time. When you're in a situation like mine, you can only think in metaphors.
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.
Your past has a way of sneaking up on you. You'll hear broken echoes of it everywhere, like a bad replay. You'll get mad at everyone for reminding you about it, even if it's all in your head.
Death is inevitable. Our fear of it makes us play safe, blocks out emotion. It's a losing game. Without passion you are already dead.
The trouble with wanting something is the fear of losing it, or never getting it. The thought makes you weak.
Hypothetically, if the only choice you've got is to do the wrong thing, then it's not really the *wrong* thing, is it? It's more like fate.
I felt the rise of that old familiar feeling... I hated it... I welcomed it...
The genius of the hole: no matter how much time you spend climbing out, you can still fall back down in an instant.
I didn't deserve to walk away. There are no happy endings.
Firing a gun is a binary choice. You either pull the trigger or you don't...
What the fuck is wrong with you, Max? Why don't you just die? You hate life, you're miserable all the time, afraid to enjoy yourself even a little! Face it, you might as well be dead already. Do yourself a favor, give up!
You have wrecked my restaurant twice now. You can be so damn uncompromising, fanatical about these things, Max. One of these days, it's going to get you killed. You should be glad, Max! I did you a favor, finished off your revenge for you. The murderer of your loved ones is dead!
If you think nothing can get to you, you're lying to yourself. At best, you're temporarily dead. A lightning bolt can reanimate you without a warning.
Like always, the dead had all the answers I was missing. It wasn't that they weren't eager to talk. Quite the contrary. The dead had plenty to say. And once they started, they would never shut up. Their words would keep you awake at night. The bodies, all the evidence of all the murders the cleaners had done, all the answers. It would take days to dig through it.
There are no choices. Nothing but a straight line. The illusion comes afterwards, when you ask 'Why me?' and 'What if?'. When you look back and see the branches, like a pruned bonsai tree, or forked lightning. If you had done something differently, it wouldn't be you. It would be someone else looking back, asking a different set of questions.
The past is a gaping hole. You try to run from it, but the more you run, the deeper it grows behind you, its edges yawning at your heels. Your only chance is to turn around and face it. But it's like looking down into the grave of your love, or kissing the mouth of a gun, a bullet trembling in its dark nest, ready to blow your head off.
The past is a puzzle, like a broken mirror. As you piece it together, your image keeps shifting. And you change with it. It could destroy you, drive you mad. It could set you free.
Throw the rules out the window, odds are you'll go that way too
For the first time in I don't know how long, I did not wish to be dead.
The rain was comin' down like all the angels in heaven decided to take a piss at the same time. When you're in a situation like mine, you can only think in metaphors.
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.
Your past has a way of sneaking up on you. You'll hear broken echoes of it everywhere, like a bad replay. You'll get mad at everyone for reminding you about it, even if it's all in your head.
Death is inevitable. Our fear of it makes us play safe, blocks out emotion. It's a losing game. Without passion you are already dead.
The trouble with wanting something is the fear of losing it, or never getting it. The thought makes you weak.
Hypothetically, if the only choice you've got is to do the wrong thing, then it's not really the *wrong* thing, is it? It's more like fate.
I felt the rise of that old familiar feeling... I hated it... I welcomed it...
The genius of the hole: no matter how much time you spend climbing out, you can still fall back down in an instant.
I didn't deserve to walk away. There are no happy endings.
Firing a gun is a binary choice. You either pull the trigger or you don't...
What the fuck is wrong with you, Max? Why don't you just die? You hate life, you're miserable all the time, afraid to enjoy yourself even a little! Face it, you might as well be dead already. Do yourself a favor, give up!
You have wrecked my restaurant twice now. You can be so damn uncompromising, fanatical about these things, Max. One of these days, it's going to get you killed. You should be glad, Max! I did you a favor, finished off your revenge for you. The murderer of your loved ones is dead!
If you think nothing can get to you, you're lying to yourself. At best, you're temporarily dead. A lightning bolt can reanimate you without a warning.
Like always, the dead had all the answers I was missing. It wasn't that they weren't eager to talk. Quite the contrary. The dead had plenty to say. And once they started, they would never shut up. Their words would keep you awake at night. The bodies, all the evidence of all the murders the cleaners had done, all the answers. It would take days to dig through it.
