Jason Bourne Quotes

I mean, we're all trying to find out who the hell we are, aren't we?

Well, let me tell you, gentlemen, the games of the devil are not restricted to those confined to hell. Others can play them.

The success of any trap lies in its fundamental simplicity. The reverse trap by the nature of its single complication must be swift and simpler still.

The cruelest thing you can do to a person who's living in panic is to offer him or her hope that turns out false. When the crash comes its intolerable.

I see things and I hear things I do not understand. I'm a skilled, resourceful... vegetable!

What a man can't remember doesn't exist for him.

The easiest thing in the world is to convince yourself that you're right. As one grows old, it is easier still.

You're on your own now. You are not helpless. You will find your way.

He wasn't smart enough to see it, said Jason Bourne. He couldn't think geometrically.

A man's weaknesses may intrude on his faith but they do not diminish it.

Learn always but never appear to be learning.

Are you, like... Jason Bourne or something?

How gratifying to be there when arrogance collapses. How much more so to be the instrument. (Alfred Gillette)

There'll come a moment when you think you can make it, and you'll try.

Perhaps conscience did not always produce cowards. Sometimes it made a man feel better about himself.

You know, Mr. Webb, you have two commands you use with irritating frequency. 'Move' and 'Let's go.

Opportunities will present themselves. Recognize them, act on them.

Men and women walked casually about as they did on the main floor, every now and then stopping one another, exchanging pleasantries or scraps of relevantly irrelevant information. Gossip.

The easiest thing in the world is to convince yourself that you are right. As one grows older, this is easier still.

Before taking her into the library, my wife told me she was an old friend in a marriage crisis. A fatuous lie; at her age there are no crises left in marriage, only acceptance and extraction. (General Villiers)

Accountants and economists are natural enemies. One views trees, the other forests, and the visions are usually at odds, as they should be.

They lived with the intensity of two people aware that change would come. And when it came, it would come quickly; so there were things to talk about which could not be avoided any longer.

REST IS THE BEST WEAPON..BATTLES WON AND LOST" ((page 209 )) JACKAL CHALLENGING BOURNE : " Paris, Jason Bourne! Paris if you dare! Or shall it be a minor university in Maine. Dr,Webb? ((page 276))... JACKALS WARNING, IN PRINTED WORDS IN A BLACK BUTCHER'S PENCIL ((at an country restaurant Epernon, Paris )) "The trees of Tannenbaum will burn and children will be the kindling. Sleep well Jason Bourne

You're on tenth base, I can't find you.

I haven't much time for sanity

Give me enough medals and I’ll win you any war.

I mean, we’re all trying to find out who the hell we are, aren’t we?

One balks, then agrees, then balks again only to agree again; that is the way one learns things.

She's an old soldier's woman, and she has antennae for things that often escape the officer in the field.

You appear to be a mass of contradictions; there’s a subsurface violence almost always in control, but very much alive.

Mindless, stupid men! Playing with the lives of other men,

Two people were not one,

They never listened until it was too late, and then only with stern forbearance and strong reminders of what might have been—had things been as they were perceived to be, which they were not.

everything we knew, everything we felt!’ ‘Not quite everything,’ he said, touching her cheek. ‘I’m Jason to you, Bourne to me, because that’s the name I was given, and have to use it because I don’t have any other. But it’s not mine.

There were more preposterous vicissitudes in life than a single philosophy could conjure.

He may be a scholar, but he’s first a man who believes—with certain justification—that he was betrayed by his government.

Wealth is relative to the amount of time one has to enjoy it.

It’s not the meek who are inheriting the earth, Jason, it’s the corruptors

The easiest thing in the world is to convince yourself that you’re right. As one grows old it is easier still.

Wealth is relative to the amount of time one has to enjoy it. I wouldn’t have five minutes.

If I haven't done badly, it's because I've become indispensable to too many like David Abbott. I have in my head a thousand facts they couldn't possibly recall. It's simply easier for them to place me where the questions are, where problems need solutions. (Alfred Gillette)

The silence lasted precisely five seconds, during which time eyes roamed other eyes, several throats were cleared, and no one moved in his chair. It was as if a decision were being reached without discussion: evasion was to be avoided. Congressman Efrem Walters, out of the hills of Tennessee by way of the Yale Law Review, was not to be dismissed with facile circumlocution that dealt with the esoterica of clandestine manipulations. Bullshit was out.

You appear to be a mass of contradictions," Dr Washburn said. "There's a subsurface violence almost always in control, but very much alive. There's also a pensiveness that seems painful for you, yet you rarely give vent to the anger that pain must provoke.

Because the physical conduits that permit and transmit those memories have been altered. Physically rearranged to the point where they no longer function as they once did. For all intents and purposes, they’ve been destroyed.

warmed by the cold sea around him.

followed – even now at this moment.’ The one-time beggar

Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta...Delta is for Charlie and Charlie is for Cain

The physical and the psychological. They were related, interwoven—two strands of experience, or stimulae, that became knotted.

That’s not a man who’s either afraid or guilty.

The slightest alteration can cause dramatic changes. That’s what happened to you. The damage was physical. It’s as though blocks were rearranged, the physical structure no longer what it was.

If a stress situation results in injury, be aware of the fact that the damage may be as much psychological as physical. You may have a very real revulsion to pain and bodily harm. Don’t take risks, but if there’s time, give yourself a chance to adjust. Don’t panic.…

Stop it! Do not think of things that … you cannot think about. Concentrate on what is. Now. You. Not what others say you are—not even what you may think you are. Only the now. And the now is a man who can give you answers.

I loathe him. He stands for everything I hate in Washington. The right schools, houses in Georgetown, farms in Virginia, quiet meetings at their clubs. They've got their tight little world and you don't break in--they run it all. The bastards. The superior, self-inflated gentry of Washington. They use other men's intellects, other men's work, wrapping it all into decisions bearing their imprimaturs. And if you're on the outside, you become part of that amorphous entity, a 'damn fine staff.' (Alfred Gillette)

You really are one son of a bitch, you son of a bitch.

du Lac?

There was too little space for their own—and they guarded their own as all Chinese had done from the earliest dynasties.

For so many, death is a liberation from intolerable human conditions.

Keep your friends close, Sun-Tzu had written. Your enemies closer.

the inequality of values is constant. Gold simply is not brass or iron;

Oh, God, she loathed them all! Mindless, stupid men. Playing with the lives of other men, knowing so little, thinking they knew so much.

It was the calm of the observer, the uninvolved observer, separated from the events, knowing of them but not essentially involved.

emotional stress that produced stagnate hysteria and mental aphasia, conditions which also resulted in partial or total loss of memory. Amnesia.

It’s a geometric puzzle; it can happen in any combination of ways. Physically or psychologically—or a little of both. It can be permanent or temporary, all or part. No rules!

the connecting fibers of the corpus callosum;

Alex, drunk or sober, made no distinction between the hours of day and night, nor did the operations he knew so well, for there was no night and day where his work was concerned. There was only the flat light of fluorescent tubes in offices that never closed.

As she watched him, Mrs. Gates was once again struck by the painful realization that there were … things … about her husband she would never understand. Gaps in his life she could never fill, leaps in his thinking she could not comprehend.

concentrate on nothing … and everything. The outlines of the truth were being presented to him, shape by enigmatic shape, each more startling than the last. He was not at all sure he was capable—mentally capable—of absorbing a great deal more.

Of course not. A goat does not willingly enter the wolf’s cave.” “Goats are surefooted; they’ve got an accurate sense of smell.” “And they are cautious, mein Herr. Because the wolf is faster, infinitely more aggressive. There would be only one chase. The goat’s last.

That’s incredible,” said the congressman. “Or incredibly incompetent.

C’est vrai, madame! In banking and law … indeed, as in life itself … timing is everything. You have nothing to fear.

Call it the courage of an insignificant goat who has survived.

And I’d prefer you function the very best you can at that appointment. My interests are extremely selfish, no remissions permitted.

for life was lived for active memories; the dormant ones lost meaning.

Above all else, he had to show control, for what afflicted him was so uncontrollable. He had to appear completely lucid—sane within the boundaries of his memory.

And I know now it will happen over and over again until it stops for you. You hear words, you see images, and fragments of things come back to you that you can’t understand, but because they’re there you condemn yourself. You always will condemn yourself until someone proves to you that whatever you were … there are others using you, who will sacrifice you. But there’s also someone else out there who wants to help you, help us. That’s the message!

In Morocco, he was back in his element, a shark moving through deep and dangerous waters. But for thousands of years sharks have been bred to survive dark and dangerous waters. So too, Leonid Arkadin.

Oh, God, she loathed them all! Mindless, stupid men. Playing with the lives of other men, knowing so little, thinking they knew so much. They had not listened! They never listened until it was too late, and then only with stern forbearance and strong reminders of what might have been—had things been as they were perceived to be, which they were not. The corruption came from blindness, the lies from obstinacy and embarrassment. Do not embarrass the powerful; the napalm said it all.

If there was such a life and he could accept it without the terrible labyrinth from which he could find no escape. But it was more than that. In a manmade labyrinth one kept moving, running, careening off walls, the contact itself a form of progress, if only blind. His personal labyrinth had no walls, no defined corridors through which to race.

Take the hand you’re dealt and then finesse it,

A cretin can kill you just as efficiently as a genius, and usually a whole lot quicker because a cretin has no conscience.

haragei—the art of balance and power emanating from the lower belly. Haragei was the basis of all Japanese martial arts, from sumo to karate to the almost extinct harakei. The

Whenever you’re in a stress situation yourself—and there’s time, of course—do exactly as you would do when you project yourself into one you’re observing. Let your mind fall free, let whatever thoughts and images that surface come cleanly. Try not to exercise any mental discipline. Be a sponge; concentrate on everything and nothing. Specifics may come to you, certain repressed conduits electrically prodded into functioning.

Jane is, at the moment, blissfully unaware of her surroundings, and August can’t resist. She edges up to her silently, leans close to her ear, and says, “Hey, Subway Girl.” Jane yelps, flails sideways, and punches August in the nose. “Agh, what the fuck, Jane?” August yells, dropping her bags to clutch her face. “Are you Jason Bourne?” “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Jane yells back, pulling herself upright. “I don’t know who Jason Bourne is.

It’s an insoluble dilemma, really. Presidents change, different men with different temperaments and appetites sit in the Oval Office. However, a long-range intelligence strategy doesn’t change, not one like this. Yet an offhand remark over a glass of whiskey in a postpresidential conversation, or an egotistical phrase in a memoir, can blow that same strategy right to hell. There isn’t a day that we don’t worry about those men who have survived the White House.

the role of the duped cuckold. Neither would we if it was learned that General Motors, IBM, and the New York Stock Exchange were being run by American traitors, trained in the Soviet, diverting billions to projects not in our nation’s interests.

It explains you.” “A hollow shell who doesn’t even own the memories he thinks he has? With demons running around inside kicking hell out of the walls? It’s not a pleasant prospect.” “Those aren’t demons, my darling. They’re parts of you—angry, furious, screaming to get out because they don’t belong in the shell you’ve given them.” “And if I blow that shell apart, what’ll I find?” “Many things. Some good, some bad, a great deal that’s been hurt. But Cain won’t be there, I promise you that. I believe in you, my darling. Please don’t give up.” He kept his distance, a glass wall between them.

I sprinkle some flour on the dough and roll it out with the heavy, wooden rolling pin. Once it’s the perfect size and thickness, I flip the rolling pin around and sing into the handle—American Idol style. “Calling Gloriaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa . . .” And then I turn around. “AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Without thinking, I bend my arm and throw the rolling pin like a tomahawk . . . straight at the head of the guy who’s standing just inside the kitchen door. The guy I didn’t hear come in. The guy who catches the hurling rolling pin without flinching—one-handed and cool as a gorgeous cucumber—just an inch from his perfect face. He tilts his head to the left, looking around the rolling pin to meet my eyes with his soulful brown ones. “Nice toss.” Logan St. James. Bodyguard. Totally badass. Sexiest guy I have ever seen—and that includes books, movies and TV, foreign and domestic. He’s the perfect combo of boyishly could-go-to-my-school kind of handsome, mixed with dangerously hot and tantalizingly mysterious. If comic-book Superman, James Dean, Jason Bourne and some guy with the smoothest, most perfectly pitched, British-Scottish-esque, Wessconian-accented voice all melded together into one person, they would make Logan fucking St. James. And I just tried to clock him with a baking tool—while wearing my Rick and Morty pajama short-shorts, a Winnie-the-Pooh T-shirt I’ve had since I was eight and my SpongeBob SquarePants slippers. And no bra. Not that I have a whole lot going on upstairs, but still . . . “Christ on a saltine!” I grasp at my chest like an old woman with a pacemaker. Logan’s brow wrinkles. “Haven’t heard that one before.” Oh fuck—did he see me dancing? Did he see me leap? God, let me die now. I yank on my earbuds’ cord, popping them from my ears. “What the hell, dude?! Make some noise when you walk in—let a girl know she’s not alone. You could’ve given me a heart attack. And I could’ve killed you with my awesome ninja skills.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “No, you couldn’t.” He sets the rolling pin down on the counter. “I knocked on the kitchen door so I wouldn’t frighten you, but you were busy with your . . . performance.” Blood and heat rush to my face. And I want to melt into the floor and then all the way down to the Earth’s core.

They drove back to Paris on the assumption that they would be far less obvious among the crowds of the city than in an isolated country inn. A blond-haired man wearing tortoise-shell glasses, and a striking but stern-faced woman, devoid of makeup, and with her hair pulled back like an intense graduate student at the Sorbonne, were not out of place in Montmartre. They took a room at the Terrasse on the rue de Maistre, registering as a married couple from Brussels. In the room, they stood for a moment, no words necessary for what each was seeing and feeling. They came together, touching, holding, closing out the abusive world that refused them peace, that kept them balancing on taut wires next to one another, high above a dark abyss; if either fell, it was the end for both. Bourne could not change his color for the immediate moment. It would be false, and there was no room for artifice. “We need some rest,” he said. “We’ve got to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day.” They made love. Gently, completely, each with the other in the warm, rhythmic comfort of the bed. And there was a moment, a foolish moment, when adjustment of an angle was breathlessly necessary and they laughed. It was a quiet laugh, at first even an embarrassed laugh, but the observation was there, the appraisal of foolishness intrinsic to something very deep between them. They held each other more fiercely when the moment passed, more and more intent on sweeping away the awful sounds and the terrible sights of a dark world that kept them spinning in its winds. They were suddenly breaking out of that world, plunging into a much better one where sunlight and blue water replaced the darkness. They raced toward it feverishly, furiously, and then they burst through and found it. Spent, they fell asleep, their fingers entwined.

Anything’s possible. I have no answers, Jason, only discrepancies, things that can’t be explained—that should be explained. You haven’t once, ever, displayed a need or a drive for what you say you might have been. And without those things a man like that couldn’t be. Or you couldn’t be him.” “I’m him.” “Listen to me. You’re very dear to me, my darling, and that could blind me, I know it. But I also know something about myself. I’m no wide-eyed flower child; I’ve seen a share of this world, and I look very hard and very closely at those who attract me. Perhaps to confirm what I like to think are my values—and they are values. Mine, nobody else’s.” She stopped for a moment and moved away from him. “I’ve watched a man being tortured—by himself and by others—and he won’t cry out. You may have silent screams, but you won’t let them be anyone else’s burden but your own. Instead, you probe and dig and try to understand. And that, my friend, is not the mind of a cold-blooded killer, any more than what you’ve done and want to do for me. I don’t know what you were before, or what crimes you’re guilty of, but they’re not what you believe—what others want you to believe. Which brings me back to those values I spoke of. I know myself. I couldn’t love the man you say you are. I love the man I know you are. You just confirmed it again. No killer would make the offer you just made.

In the room, they stood for a moment, no words necessary for what each was seeing and feeling. They came together, touching, holding, closing out the abusive world that refused them peace, that kept them balancing on taut wires next to one another, high above a dark abyss; if either fell, it was the end for both. Bourne could not change his color for the immediate moment. It would be false, and there was no room for artifice. “We need some rest,” he said. “We’ve got to get some sleep. It’s going to be a long day.” They made love. Gently, completely, each with the other in the warm, rhythmic comfort of the bed. And there was a moment, a foolish moment, when adjustment of an angle was breathlessly necessary and they laughed. It was a quiet laugh, at first even an embarrassed laugh, but the observation was there, the appraisal of foolishness intrinsic to something very deep between them. They held each other more fiercely when the moment passed, more and more intent on sweeping away the awful sounds and the terrible sights of a dark world that kept them spinning in its winds. They were suddenly breaking out of that world, plunging into a much better one where sunlight and blue water replaced the darkness. They raced toward it feverishly, furiously, and then they burst through and found it. Spent, they fell asleep, their fingers entwined.

His confidence was supremely magnetic. In my mind, he was Batman and Jason Bourne and John Wayne knit together in a dark and attractive package.

Aedus reached into the center console and pulled out a pair of sunglasses. There was hardly a cloud in the sky. He drove for ten minutes before the helicopter came in sight, gradually descending towards the airport in his opposite direction. He looked around for a place to make a U-turn, but there was no legal turn available. Aedus sighed. The things a good guy has to do. He made a turn onto a side road and looped back around, tires squealing. In an action movie he’d just make a U-turn wherever, speed down the road, and weave in and out of traffic. Alas, this wasn’t an action movie and he wasn’t a certain Jason Bour—no time to think about that. The airport was coming up quick and as bustling as ever.

Boris come himself?” Vanov laughed. “Surely you’re joking. Preparations for his wedding.

ambulance. Two

When clients want to add a bunch of confusion to their marketing message, I ask them to consider the ramifications of doing so if they were writing a screenplay. I mean, what if The Bourne Identity were a movie about a spy named Jason Bourne searching for his true identity but it also included scenes of Bourne trying to lose weight, marry a girl, pass the bar exam, win on Jeopardy, and adopt a cat? The audience would lose interest. When storytellers bombard people with too much information, the audience is forced to burn too many calories organizing the data. As a result, they daydream, walk out of the theater, or in the case of digital marketing, click to another site without placing an order. Why do so many brands create noise rather than music? It’s because they don’t realize they are creating noise. They actually think people are interested in the random information they’re doling out. This is why we need a filter. The essence of branding is to create simple, relevant messages we can repeat over and over so that we “brand” ourselves into the public consciousness.

Haqqani added that he had “a bone to pick” with Panetta. “You lied.” He added, “If you’re going to send a Jason Bourne to our country, make sure he has the skills to get out like Jason Bourne,” Haqqani added.

Chances were high my mom could do one of those Jason Bourne neck twists and Bambi would be on the way to heaven.

after just having finished a breakfast of soft-boiled eggs, toast, and coffee. Her room was huge, more like a

eerie patterns and lurid colors. Every few seconds

Jason Bourne was the name of someone in American military intelligence—a traitor who was shot dead for his crime. When the present Bourne was recruited into Treadstone he was given the name of the dead man.