[on his enforced retirement from the Secret Service] Reason as motive, or reason as logic, or reason as a way of life? They don't have to give me reasons—I can write my own damn reasons, and that is not the same as the half-baked tolerance that comes from no longer caring!
[to Peter Guillam] I'm surprised they didn't throw you out with the rest of us. You had all the qualifications for losing your job: good at your work, loyal, discreet...
[responding to a rumor about the Circus's deceased chief] Control died of a heart attack, after a long illness, throughout most of which he continued to work. Besides he hated South Africa. He hated everywhere except Surrey, the Circus, and Lord's Cricket Ground.
You featherhead, Martindale! You pompous, bogus, gossiping old featherhead!
Bill Haydon: [incredulous] "Why?" You ask that? [laughing and crying at the same time] Because it was necessary! That's why! Someone had to! [pauses] We were bluffed, George. You, me, even Control. Those Circus talent spotters, all those years ago. They plucked us when we were golden with hope, told us we were on our way to the Holy Grail... freedom's protectors... [laughing and crying] My God, what a question... "why?"