“Some stories aren't black and white.”

“I wish I could trust you, Reed, but I know I can’t.” His brow furrows in confusion, but there is a wry tilt to his lips, “Why?” I give him a small smile of my own, “You think you’re different from men like Caleb. You see everything in black and white, you don’t care about the whole story; you don’t care about the gray. Some stories aren’t black and white, Agent Reed.”

“...monsters aren't born, they're made...”

“I'm telling you, monsters aren't born, they're made.”

“But, I'm telling you, monsters aren't born, they're made, and someone made Caleb." --Olivia”

“There is a moment, in all my studying of movies and scripts, that I’d realized something elemental about human beings and why I’d been attracted to that imaginary world. Each piece of work was attempting to describe the human condition, in all its good, bad and ugly glory. At first, it’d been an extension of my own life, strangely mirrored in this world of ‘fiction’. Each story wanted, no— needed—to reveal a human fragility, a human bondage which tied people to the things they did and to be the person they held in their heads. Those stories were something true and sometimes horrific but people were people and the parts didn’t just tell the whole story.”

“I don’t want revenge, Caleb. I don’t want to end up like you, letting some fucking vendetta run my life. I just want my freedom. I want to be free, Caleb. Not someone’s whore…not even yours.”