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Quotes for
Andrew Ryan (Character)
from BioShock (2007) (VG)

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BioShock (2007) (VG)
Andrew Ryan: I am Andrew Ryan, and I'm here to ask you a question. Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow? 'No!' says the man in Washington, 'It belongs to the poor.' 'No!' says the man in the Vatican, 'It belongs to God.' 'No!' says the man in Moscow, 'It belongs to everyone.' I rejected those answers; instead, I chose something different. I chose the impossible. I chose... Rapture, a city where the artist would not fear the censor, where the scientist would not be bound by petty morality, Where the great would not be constrained by the small! And with the sweat of your brow, Rapture can become your city as well.

Andrew Ryan: A man chooses, a slave obeys.

Andrew Ryan: We all make choices, but in the end our choices make us.

Andrew Ryan: Even in a book of lies sometimes you find truth. There is indeed a season for all things and now that I see you flesh-to-flesh and blood-to-blood I know I cannot raise my hand against you. But know this, you are my greatest disappointment. Does your master hear me? Atlas! You can kill me, but you will never have my city. My strength is not in steel and fire, that is what the parasites will never understand. A season for all things! A time to live and a time to die, a time to build... and a time to destroy!

Andrew Ryan: What is the difference between a man and a parasite? A man builds. A parasite asks 'Where is my share?' A man creates. A parasite says, 'What will the neighbors think?' A man invents. A parasite says, 'Watch out, or you might tread on the toes of God... '

Andrew Ryan: [to Jack, as he enters Ryan's sanctuary] The assassin has overcome my final line of defense, and now he plans to murder me. In the end what separates a man from a slave? Money? Power? No, a man chooses, and a slave obeys!
Andrew Ryan: You think you have memories. A farm. A family. An airplane. A crash. And then this place. Was there really a family? Did that airplane crash, or, was it hijacked? Forced down, forced down by something less than a man, something bred to sleepwalk through life unless activated by a simple phrase, spoken by their kindly master. Come in.
[Jack enters Ryan's layer]
Andrew Ryan: Stop, would you kindly?
[Jack does]
Andrew Ryan: Would you kindly, powerful phrase. Familiar phrase?
[Cascade of memories of Atlas ordering Jack to perform various tasks with the phrase "Would you kindly"]
Andrew Ryan: Sit, would you kindly? Stand, would you kindly? Run! Stop! Turn. Was a man sent to kill, or a slave?
[Ryan hands Jack a golf club]
Andrew Ryan: KILL!
[Jack smacks Ryan with the club]
Andrew Ryan: A man chooses!
[Jack smacks him again]
Andrew Ryan: A slave obeys!
[Jack smacks him again]
Andrew Ryan: OBEEEEEEY!
[Jack kills Ryan]

Andrew Ryan: So tell me, friend, which one of the bitches sent you? The KGB wolf, or the CIA jackal? Here's the news: Rapture isn't some sunken ship for you to plunder, and Andrew Ryan isn't a giddy socialite who can be slapped around by government muscle. And with that, farewell, or dasvidaniya, whichever you prefer.

Andrew Ryan: You ooze in like an assassin, and then you try to sneak out like a thief! You're no CIA spook. Who are you! Why have you come here!
Andrew Ryan: There's two ways to deal with mystery: uncover it, or eliminate it.

Andrew Ryan: I came to this place to build the impossible. You came to rob what you could never build - a Hun gaping at the gates of Rome. Even the air you breathe is sponged from my account. Well... breathe deep, so later you might remember the taste.

Andrew Ryan: Why are you so resistant to the traditional methods of separating a man from his soul? You're not CIA, are you? You belong to Atlas - the one roach I can't seem to exterminate. Don't worry; I just need time to find the proper poison.

Andrew Ryan: On the surface, I once bought a forest. The parasites claimed that the land belonged to God, and demanded that I establish a public park there. Why? So the rabble could stand slack-jawed under the canopy and pretend that it was paradise *earned*. When Congress moved to nationalize my forest, I burnt it to the ground. God did not plant the seeds of this Arcadia - I did.

Andrew Ryan: Before the final rat has eaten the last gram of you, Rapture will have returned. I will lead a parade. "Who was that," they'll say, as they point to the sad shape hanging on my wall, "who was that?"

Andrew Ryan: What is the greatest lie every created? What is the most vicious obscenity ever perpetrated on mankind? Slavery? The Holocaust? Dictatorship? No. It's the tool with which all that wickedness is built: altruism. Whenever anyone wants others to do their work, they call upon their altruism. Never mind your own needs, they say, think of the needs of... of whoever. The state. The poor. Of the army, of the king, of God! The list goes on and on. How many catastrophes were launched with the words "think of yourself"? It's the "king and country" crowd who light the torch of destruction. It is this great inversion, this ancient lie, which has chained humanity to an endless cycle of guilt and failure. My journey to Rapture was my second exodus. In 1919, I fled a country that had traded in despotism for insanity. The Marxist revolution simply traded one lie for another. Instead of one man, the tsar, owning the work of all the people, *all* the people owned the work of all of the people. So, I came to America: where a man could own his own work, where a man could benefit from the brilliance of his own mind, the strength of his own muscles, the *might* of his own will. I had thought I had left the parasites of Moscow behind me. I had thought I had left the Marxist altruists to their collective farms and their five-year plans. But as the German fools threw themselves on Hitler's sword "for the good of the Reich", the Americans drank deeper and deeper of the Bolshevik poison, spoon-fed to them by Roosevelt and his New Dealists. And so, I asked myself: in what country was there a place for men like me - men who refused to say "yes" to the parasites and the doubters, men who believed that work was sacred and property rights inviolate. And then one day, the happy answer came to me, my friends: there was *no* country for people like me! And *that* was the moment I decided... to build one.