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• Sydney Bristow: “What happens if what we’re looking for isn’t metal?”
Jack Bristow: “Then we’re screwed; it isn’t an unfamiliar situation.”
• Oleg: [Trying to brainwash Syndey] “Your name is Julia Thorne. You were born in London on August 2, 1973.”
Sydney Bristow: “My name is Sydney Bristow, you ugly bastard.”
• “I’ve seen too much… Everything gets stolen.”
• Sydney Bristow: “It was a little over the top.”
Will Tippin: “Over the top? I’m wearing seat covering, there is no “over the top”.”
• Will Tippin: “You have to admit, my accent was pretty good. It was, like, early Stones.”
Sydney Bristow: “I thought it was Australian.”
• “One thing I have learned doing this: there’s no drug like adrenaline.”
• NSC Director Robert Lindsey: “If you’re finished, this is the men’s room.”
Sydney Bristow: “Who let you in?”
• Jack Bristow: “It must’ve been lost in the mail.”
Sydney Bristow: “Your invite?”
Jack Bristow: “Unless it was an e-vite. I don’t read e-vites.”
• Sydney Bristow: [After getting a call] “I have to go in.”
Michael Vaughn: “Of course you do, it’s your day off.”
• Marcus Dixon: “You know, you always do that.”
Sydney Bristow: “What?”
Marcus Dixon: “What you just did with your hair. It’s your thing.”
Sydney Bristow: “I don’t have a thing.”
Marcus Dixon: “It is. It’s your thing.”
• Sydney Bristow: “You know, peach isn’t really in this season.”
Michael Vaughn: “I heard peach was the new green.”
Sydney Bristow: “I thought beige was the new green.”
Michael Vaughn: “No beige is the new peach.”
Sydney Bristow: “No.”
• Simon Walker: “Tell me who the hell you’re working for!”
Sydney Bristow: “I’m working for myself, you son of a bitch!”
• C.I.A. Agent James L. Lennox: “I could’ve sworn you were a blonde.”
Sydney Bristow: “I was. My hair’s usually brown. Hard to keep track.”
• Juilan Sark: “It was you giving us problems at the launch. I’d offer you passage back to civilization, but my submersible only seats four.”
Sydney Bristow: “It’s the thought that counts.”
• “Write this down. E.M.E.T.I.B. Got it? Now, reverse it.”
• Sydney Bristow: “Dad, you don’t have to worry about me. I’m not that naive.”
Jack Bristow: “I’m sure that’s something we both hope is true.”
• [In disguise as an astronaut] “Our radio telescopes inspect the cosmos looking to detect artificially generated signals, basically anything below three hundred hertz. Don’t worry, the alien invasion is still a few months away.”
• Marcus Dixon: “We’ve already prepared the mission specs - low risk incursion, simple alias. Who knows, could be fun.”
Sydney Bristow: “That’s what you say every time you show up on my doorstep. The next thing you know I’m jumping over canals in three-inch heels while napalm explodes around me.”
Marcus Dixon: “Yes, that’s how I define “fun”.”
• “But the truth is, it affects me. Never knowing who to trust, learning to expect betrayal, plotting in secrecy and hatred and anger. It’s becoming a part of me. I am becoming what I despise.”
• “Don’t. Touch. The fur. Alright, you may touch the fur… Once.”
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