Acteur / Actrice - Hugo Weaving

Dédaignant la fortune et brandissant son épée qui fumait d’une sanglante exécution.

People should not be afraid of their governments. Governments should be afraid of their people.

- Defiant until the end, huh? You won’t cry like him, will you? You’re not afraid of death. You’re like me.
- The only thing that you and I have in common, Mr. Creedy, is that we’re both about to die.
- How do you imagine that’s gonna happen?
- With my hands around your neck.

Remember, remember, the 5th of November. The gunpowder treason and plot. I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason should ever be forgot.
But what of the man? I know his name was Guy Fawkes… And I know in 1605, he attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. But who was he really? What was he like? We are told to remember the idea and not the man because a man can fail.
He can be caught, he can be killed and forgotten.
But 400 years later an idea can still change the world. I have witnessed firsthand the power of ideas. I’ve seen people kill in the name of them and die defending them.
But we cannot kiss an idea, cannot touch it or hold it. Ideas do not bleed, they do not feel pain. They do not love. And it is not an idea that I miss. It is a man. A man that made me remember the 5th of November. A man that I will never forget.

Il n’y a pas de coïncidence Delia, seulement l’illusion de la coïncidence…

- Die! Why won’t you die?
- Beneath this mask there is more than flesh. There is an idea, Mr. Creedy, and ideas are bulletproof.

Nous ne sommes pas ici parce que nous sommes libres, nous sommes ici parce que nous ne le sommes pas.

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 a vestige of the vox populi now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by go vexetation stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violations 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.

- Who are you?
- Who? Who is but the form following the function of what… And what I am is a man in a mask.
- Oh, I can see that.
- Of course you can, I’m not questioning your powers of observation.
I’m merely remarking upon the paradox of asking a masked man who he is.
- Right.
- But on this most auspicious of nights… Permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet… To suggest the character of this dramatic persona.
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 a vestige of the vox populi now vacant, vanished. However, this valorous visitation of a by go vexation stands vivified and has vowed to vanquish these venal and virulent vermin vanguarding vice and vouchsafing the violently vicious and voracious violations 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 honour to meet you… And you may call me V.
- Are you like, a crazy person?
- I am quite sure they will say so. But to whom, might I ask am I speaking?
- I’m Evey.
- Evey? E-vey. Of course you are.
- What does that mean?
- It means that I, like God, do not play with dice and do not believe in coincidence. Are you hurt?
- No, I’m fine. Thanks to you.
- Oh, I merely played my part. But tell me, do you enjoy music, Evey?
- I suppose.
- You see, I’m a musician of sorts… And on my way to give a very special performance.
- What kind of musician?
- Percussions instruments are my speciality. But tonight I intend to call upon the entire orchestra for this especially event… And would be honoured if you could join me.
- I don’t think so. I should be getting home.
- I promise you, it will be like nothing you’ve ever seen. And afterwards, you’ll return home safely.
- All right.

- Vous formerez la communauté de l’anneau !
- Chouette, où est-ce qu’on va ?

- Oh mon Dieu !!
- Appelez moi Smith !

- It’s beautiful up here.
- A more perfect stage could not be asked for.
- I don’t see any instruments.
- Your powers of observation continue to serve you well. But wait. It is to Madame Justice that I dedicate this concerto…in honor of the holidays she seems to have taken from these parts…and in recognition of the impostor that stand in her stead.
Tell me, do you know what day it is, Evey?
- November the 4th?
- Not anymore.

Remember, Remember
The 5th of November
The gunpowders treason and plot
I know of no reason
Why the gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot.

First the overture… Yes. Yes the stings. Listen carefully, can you hear it?… Now the brass…
- I can hear it ! How do you do that?
- Wait! Here comes the crescendo! How beautiful is it not?

Est-ce la peur ou le courage qui te donne des ailes… tas de viande ?

- You can’t scare me with this gestapo crap. I know my rights. I want my phone call.
- And tell me, Mr. Anderson, what good is a phone call if you are unable to speak?

- Pourquoi Monsieur Anderson, pourquoi persister !?
- Parce que j’en ai fait le choix…

- Do you hear that, Mr. Anderson? It’s the sound of inevitability. It is the sound of your death. Goodbye, Mr. Anderson.
- My name is Neo.

Oubliez le Rôdeur, devenez celui que vous deviez être.

Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you do it? Why? Why get up? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you’re fighting for something? Something more than 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. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence without meaning or purpose. And all 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. There’s no point in fighting. Why, Mr. Anderson? Why? Why do you persist?

- I think we can handle one little girl. I sent two units! They’re bringing her down now!
- No, Lieutenant, your men are already dead.

Never send a human to do a machine’s job.