Believe it or don't believe it, Madame. But my feet are tired too. Bloody tired. Like a dead man's.

The night darkens, the stars unfriendly, the cold a knife upon her neck - but Nella waits, until she can no longer difference between Johannes and the darkness that carries him away.

The ink was secret nectar, for Marin isn't married.

What was once, is no longer.

Take care, take care. This city thrives! It's money gives you wings to soar. But it is a yoke on your shoulders and you would do well to take note of the bruise around your neck.

I feel younger than eighteen but burdened as a eighty-year-old.