Character: Ludwig Bodmer Rudolph

Man lives to seventy-five percent based on their fantasies, and only twenty - five, based on the facts; this is its strength and its weakness.

At twelve everyone is a genius. It loses its originality only with the onset of puberty.

Every decent man in my age certainly suffers from the world's grief.

- I work until five, and then practicing one idiot.
- What was the subject? For idiocy?

God is much more merciful priest.

Goodbye! Every day some part of us dies, but every day we live a little longer you've opened, and I will not forget that there is no destruction, and he who has nothing wants to hold owns everything; good-bye, I kiss you my empty mouth. Squeeze you in my arms, who were unable to retain you goodbye, goodbye, you living in me until then while I will not forget you...

Property gives rise to the desire for order!

Ten years ago I would never have believed that I would drink wine with his Confessor; but I would also never have believed that I would kill people and for me it is not only hang, but will be awarded the order, - and yet it happened.

... To put the person in the guilt of his youth - the most convincing objection which you can think of.

Autumn and spring - the best season for merchants funeral accessories: people are dying more than in summer and winter; autumn - because of man power runs out in the spring because they awaken and devour the weakened organism, as too thick a wick skinny candle.

Money is an illusion; everyone knows that, but many still can't believe it.

- Everyone is always on the path to God - tired of the struggle, I say. - The question is what the person meant by that.

The beginning and the end, I think I suddenly understand what she meant: the arrogance to imagine that you can cut and highlight my little life from the fire, and boil and make our scrap of consciousness by the judge of its duration, whereas this life is just a little bit of fluff, which some time swimming in it. Beginning and end - made-up words for imaginary concepts of time, the fruit of a vain consciousness of an amoeba, not wanting to melt into something greater.

- And when you can consider yourself an adult?
Lisa thinks.
- When you start to think more about themselves than about others - she's wheezing and rattling slams the window.