Avarice is a cursed vice: offer a man enough gold, and he will part with his own small hoard of food, however great his hunger.

The subject matter is autobiographical, it's all to do with hope and memory and sensuality and involvement, really.

Everybody dies. Some just need a little help.

Death is a mercy, and I have enough mercy to go around.

The poor wretches have convinced themselves that they are going to be immortal and live for all time, by worshipping that crucified sophist and living under his laws...they receive these doctrines by tradition, without any definite evidence. So if any charlatan or trickster comes among them, he quickly acquires wealth by imposing upon these simple people.

Be grateful. By slaying you now, I spare you an eternity of torment.

Not every story has a happy ending, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth telling.