The Gnostic Wanderer: It’s cold outside. That doesn’t feel good to no one. So it’s nice to warm your hands at the fireplace.

Master Thaur: That’s one way of putting it. As for me, I just call them whores. It’s what they are.

Uncle Adelbart: – steps out of the warehouse, sits on a wooden bench, looks at you with his head slightly bent sideways –

Señor Palermo: Can you walk across the field without stepping on an ant?

Uncle Adelbart: – looks beyond you, at slowly passing fluffy clouds –

Macrocosmic: I stop to save all snails. Since some years earthworms too. There’s always a next tram.

Uncle Adelbart: – directs his eyes back at you, with an almost unnoticable mild yet cheeky grin –

Tonó: On the scale of egotism to martyrdom, what’s your level of sacrifice?

Uncle Adelbart: You have grown up when you realise that there is no god, and yet you pray to him.

Master Thaur: Whores.