There is a cross in this snow, there is a trail of blood, and that — is the only thing, I’ll follow.

You see the posh Prado that does not belong, you see the glock pointed, “Sir, go along”.

All that’s left will be our speck in the darkness and the will to conform

Where the people are mad, the dogs are so wild. Where the gods have no say, no justice, no morals.

Because you should expect nothing of the world — when you want it to expect nothing of you.