Character: Porthos. Page 1

This war is sooner or later going to end and I foresee all that awaits each of us: Aramis leave this vain world, become the Abbot.
Oh, Yes, sir. The world is a tomb.
Porthos returns home, marries, his wife will give him money on Sundays and bear him, by the way, fourteen children!
- Small, tidy, charming Portocolom.
D'artagnan becomes a Marshal, of course, and would retire, before committing a lot of feats.
- Why not? But you, dear Athos?
- And I... and I live in a small house in Roussillon.
- So, therefore, we never meet together?
- See you, my friends, will meet again!
- When?
- Twenty years later.
- Maybe ten?
- Or three or four centuries!

- And we, in turn, to Your Eminence did not consider us cowards and deserters, to celebrate this event, having had Breakfast on the mind and all, you and the enemy, in the Bastion Saint-Gervais and hang on there for one hour, to the minute, as if the enemy we did not try to knock out.
- It's suicide.
They will kill us, that's for sure, unless we go over there.
- It is, but we still rather get killed, if we don't go there.

- Upon my honour, I do not like this stupid war in which the French actually kill and maim the French. And in fact, because of what? Why? Why should I kill these heretics, the Huguenots, all the crime which consists in the fact that they are singing in French the Psalms we sing in Latin, huh? Tired of everything, I want everything.
So you prefer to fight the comfort of home? Certainly not old if you, dear Porthos?
- No, I'm just smarter.

- And the money?
- The money is there! Cardinal's hundred pistoles.
Is only on road there and back?
- I can reassure you, we will return back not all.

D'artagnan, this road leads to the house of Bonacieux, London to the left.

He still prays for those who kills. On the old memory.
- Not quite. My enemies deserve to die, but needs to rest in peace. In the end, they, too, in something believed. We all believe in. Even the worst of us.

You're brash, arrogant, short-tempered and unlikely to live to see the sunset, but I like you.

- Any enemy of Rochefort is a friend of mine.
- Who's Rochefort?
- The captain of the cardinal's guards, right hand secret ruler of France and the first sword of all Europe. You know how to pick your fights.
- I told you, he insulted my horse.

Prudence valor from folly.

- Yes, you know who I am?!
- And you know who I am?
- No.
- So we are equal.

I respect old age, but not boiled and not fried.

And how many guns we have?
Four!
- How many swords?
Four!
And how many of us? Athos?
- I!
- Porthos?
- I!
- Aramis?
- I!
And D'artagnan! One for all and all for one!

- We fought the Grimaud in our code of honor, according to our rules. But now we know what we should be now. No mercy.
- No rules.
- No honor.

The most dangerous criminal, one who has nothing to lose.