Every year, I took a holiday. I went to Florence, this cafe on the banks of the Arno. Every fine evening, I would sit there and order a Fernet Branca. I had this fantasy, that I would look across the tables and I would see you there with a wife maybe a couple of kids. You wouldn’t say anything to me, nor me to you. But we would both know that you’ve made it, that you were happy. I never wanted you to come back to Gotham. I always knew there was nothing here for you except pain and tragedy and I wanted something more for you than that. I still do.
Criminals thrive on the indulgence of society’s understanding.
Well, you see… I’m buying this hotel and setting some new rules about the pool area.
If you’re good at something, never do it for free.
It’s ends here.
How can you move faster than possible, fight longer than possible, without the most powerful impulse of the spirit? The fear of death.