Why, Mr. Anderson? Why keep fighting? Do you believe you're fighting for something? Can you tell me what it is? Do you even know? Is it freedom or truth? Illusions, Mr. Anderson. Temporary constructs of a feeble human intellect trying desperately to justify an existence without meaning or purpose, all as artificial as the Matrix itself. Although, only a human mind could invent something as insipid as love. You can't win. There's no point in fighting. Why, why do you persist? -Because I choose to.