The Plague: There is no right and wrong. There's only fun and boring.
Mrs. Murphy: Dade?
Dade Murphy: Yeah, ma?
Mrs. Murphy: What are you doing?
Dade Murphy: I'm taking over a TV network.
Mrs. Murphy: Finish up, honey, and get to sleep.
Kate Libby: Why'd he come to you?
Dade Murphy: I got a record! I was 'Zero Cool'!
Paul Cook: Zero Cool? Crashed fifteen hundred and seven computers in one day? Biggest crash in history, front page New York Times August 10th, 1988. I thought you was black man. YO THIS IS ZERO COOL!
Cereal Killer: When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things. What? It's Corinthians one, chapter thirteen verse eleven.
The Plague: Kid, don't threaten me. There are worse things than death, and uh, I can do all of them.
[Reading from "The Hackers' Manifesto."]
Agent Bob: "This is our world now. The world of the electron and the switch; the beauty of the baud. We exist without nationality, skin color, or religious bias. You wage wars, murder, cheat, lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals. Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto." Huh? Right? Manifesto? "You may stop me, but you can't stop us all."
Kate Libby: Are you challenging me?
Dade Murphy: Name your stakes.
Kate Libby: If I win, you become my slave.
Dade Murphy: Your SLAVE?
Kate Libby: You wish! You'll do shitwork, scan, crack copyrights...
Dade Murphy: And if I win?
Kate Libby: Make it my first-born!
Dade Murphy: Make it our first-date!
Kate Libby: I don't DO dates. But I don't lose either, so you're on!
Cereal Killer: FYI man, alright. You could sit at home, and do like absolutely nothing, and your name goes through like 17 computers a day. 1984? Yeah right, man. That's a typo. Orwell is here now. He's livin' large. We have no names, man. No names. We are nameless!
English Teacher: [written on a blackboard and spoken out loud] Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most.
Cereal Killer: Ozzy Osbourne
English Teacher: Name?
Cereal Killer: uhh... Emanuel Goldstein, sir.
English Teacher: You, however, are not on my list.
Cereal Killer: Whoa! This isn't woodshop class?
Kate Libby: Here's your class.
Dade Murphy: My class. You mean I'm... I'm not in your class?
Kate Libby: No. You're not in my class.
Dade Murphy: Gimme time.
Dade Murphy: What is it with this guy?
Ramon Sanchez: His parents missed Woodstock, and he's been making up for it since.
English Teacher: Angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night.
Dade Murphy: Ginsberg.
English Teacher: Nice, very nice.
Dade Murphy: Anything else, mom? You want me to mow the lawn? Oops! I forgot, New York, No grass.
Ramon Sanchez: It's in that place where I put that thing that time.
Kate Libby: 'God gave men brains larger than dogs so they wouldn't hump women's legs at cocktail parties.' - Ruth Libby.
English Teacher: I'm not sure your mother counts as a significant author of the 20th century.
Kate Libby: Her last book sold 2 million copies.
Razor: Remember, hacking is more than just a crime. It's a survival trait.
The Plague: Our recent unknown intruder penetrated using the superuser account, giving him access to our whole system.
Margo: Precisely what you're paid to prevent.
The Plague: Someone didn't bother reading my carefully prepared memo on commonly-used passwords. Now, then, as I so meticulously pointed out, the four most-used passwords are: love, sex, secret, and...
Margo: [glares at The Plague]
The Plague: god. So, would your holiness care to change her password?
The Plague: You wanted to know who I am, Zero Cool? Well, let me explain the New World Order. Governments and corporations need people like you and me. We are Samurai... the Keyboard Cowboys... and all those other people who have no idea what's going on are the cattle... Moooo.
Cereal Killer: We have just gotten a wake-up call from the Nintendo Generation.
Ramon Sanchez: So, uh, what's your interest in Kate Libby, eh? Academic? Purely sexual?
Dade Murphy: Homicidal.
The Plague: This is the end, my friend. Thank you for calling.
Agent Richard Gill: I think we got something.
[Hands over a sheaf of papers]
The Plague: Ugh. Hard copy.
Mrs. Murphy: Listen you guys, help yourself to anything in the fridge... Cereal has.