Character: Guildenstern

- You know, we probably belong to the school, for which the most important is blood, love and rhetoric...
- Well, take your pick... if there is anything.
Is trudnootdelema, sir. Well, we can give you blood and love without the rhetoric, blood and rhetoric without love; but I can't give you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory - they're all blood, you know.

- Here flute, play it.
Prince, I don't know how.
But I must ask you.
But I don't know how to start.
- It's as easy as lying: iterate holes with their fingers, vdevice breath and from it will flow the most gentle music.

Man talking to himself, but with meaning, no more insane than a man talking the other, but carries a nonsense.

- My honoured Lord!
- Yes, my friend!
- How are you?
- Obsessed with.
- Really? How?
- I've changed.
- Inside or outside?
- And - I.
- It is clear. (Pause.) Not much new there.

- Shall we do some questions?
- And what does it mean?
- Practice!
- No question! Single - zero.
- Disgusting.
Why?
- I haven't started yet.
- Not a question. Two - zero.
- Does that count?
What?
Does that count?
Point. For the repetition. Three - zero. Con.

When someone takes your hand and leads like a child - even though you long ago lost its innocence - it's like you reward, like getting an incremental portion of childhood, and just when you least expect it - like a prize for good behavior - or that never had a childhood...

We burn bridges, which here rush, not having other evidence of their movement, but memories of the smell of smoke and assumptions that it brought tears.
(We pass on our bridges and burn them behind him. Our way forward remains only a memory of the smell of smoke and that once our eyes were full of tears.)

The life we live, close to the truth as an eyesore, and when suddenly someone changes it - the grotesque