Mohinder: [voiceover] We are all at our cores the sum of our fears. To face destiny we must, inevitably, face those fears, and conquer them. Whether they come from the familiar or the unknown.

Mohinder: [voiceover] We are, if anything, creatures of habit. Drawn to the safety and the comfort of the familiar. But what happens when the familiar becomes unsafe? When the fear that we've been desperately trying to avoid, finds us where we live?

Mohinder: [voiceover] You can run far, you can take your small precautions. But have you really gotten away? Can you ever escape? Or is it the truth that you did not have the strength or cunning to hide from destiny? That the world is not small. you are. And, fate can find you anywhere.

Mohinder: [voiceover] You do not choose your destiny, it chooses you. And those that knew you before Fate took you by the hand cannot understand the depth of the changes inside. They cannot fathom how much you stand to lose in failure...that you are the instrument of flawless Design. And all of life may hang in the balance. The hero learns quickly who can comprehend and who merely stands in your way.

Mohinder: Hello?
Sylar: Mohinder. It's me. I need your help.
Mohinder: Sylar?
Sylar: I think I'm gonna do something bad.
Mohinder: You're a murderer. You don't get the luxury of regret.
Sylar: You don't understand. I think I'm gonna kill a lot more people. a lot more. I understood it before, the killing. To take what others didn't deserve. It was natural selection. But this time its different.
Mohinder: What are you talking about?
Sylar: An apocalypse. A massacre. Half the city gone in an instant...They mean nothing...They're innocent. There's no gain, so why would I do it? What possible reason could I have for killing so many?
Mohinder: [dialing on another phone] Wait. Listen. You don't have to -- If you are truly repentant about what you've done. Turn youself in.
Sylar: I can hear you dialing 9-1-1. It was a mistake to call.
Mohinder: No. Wait. Sylar? Sylar!
[Sylar hangs up the phone]

Mohinder: I finally found it. That's it, these four simple genes, they answer everything. I can make a new list. I can find them, save them.
Sylar: And what about me? Don't I deserve to be saved? Aren't I just a victim, too? I didn't ask for this.
Mohinder: And what would you have me do?
Sylar: Help find a way. Give me salvation. Give me that damn list so I can sink my teeth in! (Mohinder walks over to him.) I'm a natural progression of the species. Evolution is a part of nature, and nature kills. Simple, right?
Mohinder: What you've done is not evolution, it's murder. (holds gun up and points it at Sylar.) What I am doing is revenge. Now I can fulfill my duty as a son. (Sylar closes his eyes, and a gunshot is heard. The bullet is stopped before Sylar's face, then drops to the floor.)
Sylar: I wasn't begging for my life. I was offering you yours. (Sylar's constraints rip off, and he stands.) You are your father's son. So determined you didn't even notice I stopped the IV. But don't worry, you might actually do some good before you die. Starting with that list.
(knock on door)

Mohinder: I'm very interested in how you control this ability.
Sylar: Well it's like... riding a bike for the first time. It's a little wobbly, and then I discovered something. A kind of peace. A sense of purpose that can only be described as destiny.
Mohinder: I'd like to take a DNA sample.
Sylar: From me, okay. Uh, sure.
Mohinder: (takes out a cotton swab and hands it to Sylar) Just swab it on the inside of your mouth. (tea starts whistling.)
Sylar: The tea. If you'll excuse me for a second?
Mohinder: Of course. (Sylar walks to the other room, where Zane Taylor is on the floor.)
Sylar: I just swab it on the inside of my cheek?
Mohinder: Yes, that's right. (Sylar swabs Zane's cheek as Mohinder walks toward the room they're in.)
Sylar: Here you go. The DNA sample. (hands Mohinder the swab.)
Mohinder: Thank you. You know.. you should be careful who you talk to about this ability, Zane. There's some people who might not undestand. Who might want to hurt you.
Sylar: Why would anybody want to hurt me?
Mohinder: I don't know yet. But I do know this, there are others out there like you.
Sylar: Really? How many others?
Mohinder: Dozens. And those are just the ones I know about. With more time and research I could find hundreds, thousands! But, uh... you're the first one who's returned my phone calls. But I am going to find them. All of them.
Sylar: I could go with you. I could help you. Think about it, these people could need convincing. Who better to do that?

Mohinder: Man is a narcissistic species by nature. We have colonized the four corners of our tiny planet. But we are not the pinnacle of so-called evolution. That honor belongs to the lowly cockroach. Capable of living for months without food. Remaining alive headless for weeks at a time. Resistant to radiation. If God has indeed created Himself in His own image, then I submit to you that God is a cockroach.

Mohinder: Mrs. Petrelli?
Angela: Yes?
Mohinder: I'm so sorry. It's Peter.
Angela: What about him?
Mohinder: I found this address in his wallet and I didn't know where else to go. I couldn't leave him. He's dead. He was killed. Murdered. He tried to save my life... I was in over my head.
Angela: Get out of here.
Mohinder: I'm sorry.
Angela: Please leave. Now.

Mohinder: This quest. This need to solve life's mysteries. In the end, what does it matter when the human heart can only find meaning in the smallest of moments? They're here. Among us. In the shadows. In the light. Everywhere. Do they even know yet?

Mohinder: [Voiceover] Where does it come from? This quest? This need to solve lifes mysteries when the simpliest of questions can never be answered. Why are we here? What is the soul? Why do we dream? Perhaps we would be better off not looking at all. Not delving. Not yearning. But that's not human nature. Not the human heart. That is not why we are here. Yet still we struggle to make a difference. To change the world. To dream of hope. Never knowing for certain who we'll meet along the way. Who, among the world of strangers, will hold our hand. Touch our hearts. And share the pain of trying.

Mr. Bennet: Claire is not one of you.
Claude: Not yet, but one day maybe, and don't tell me you haven't thought about it.
Mr. Bennet: She isn't, I'll take her, it's done.
Claude: Oh just like that, father of the year you are.

Mr. Bennet: I don't know what to do.
Thompson: Is that a new sensation for you Bennet?

Mr. Bennet: I'm comfortable with morally gray.

Mr. Bennet: I'm not who you think I am, I'm just a paper salesman.