Why, Mr. Anderson? Why do you do it? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? For more that your survival? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom? Or truth? Perhaps peace? Yes? No? Could it be for love? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Vagaries of perception. The temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence that is without meaning or purpose. 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?
*after recving the phone*THEN TOMM WE MAY ALL BE DEAD BUT HOW WILL THT BE DIFF FROM 2DAY
THIS IS A WAR AND WE R SOLDIERS;DEATH CAN COME FOR US AT ANY TIME AT ANY PLACE
NOW CONSIDER THE ALTernative WHAT IF I AM RIGHT WHAT IF THE PROphecy IS TRUE WHAT IF TOMM THE WAR
COULD BE OVER ISNT THAT WORTH FIGHTING FOR ISNT THAT WORTH DYING FOR-morphy reloaded