“You want the truth? I’ve been fucked and betrayed often enough to not trust anybody. And that includes you.” Frank shrugged. “Don’t take it personal.”“Join the club. We meet Tuesdays. We never share the location with each other, and we show up armed.”

“Never realized how much you might have been hurt, or worried...you know. Others. Until I found out how fucking painful it is to fear losing you.' 'I never wanted anybody else after I'd found you. After I understood what it is we have. Didn't want any other man.”

“No time for books, no patience. What good would they do? They don’t tell you how to survive.” “No, they don’t do that. They are reason, not tool.” Vadim smirked. “They hold more truth than Pravda. Politburo can’t lie in Pushkin. Pushkin was there before we became Soviets. It means…if we have past, we have future.” (…) “At least I know that there are many truths. It’s about learning to think different thoughts. Know things that you never felt. You could know what being rich feels like, or being in love, without ever getting real feeling.”

“You broke me up there in the mountains. You cracked something in my head, I don’t know. I have never been obsessed with another person before or after. You just drilled your way in and since then, I’ve been yours. You got to a place that I didn’t know existed ... and all that has changed me, taken the stuff away I thought was true about me. In some weird, weird way, started something that turned me into more than a goodlooking bastard.”

“When you're like this, Vadim, I want to own you, and taste you, burrow all the way into your body until I feel so much it fucking hurts and your scent clings to every pore. I want to hurt you, tear you apart, fuck you until you plead and scream and bleed, and all that, because I can never get enough of you.”

“… I agree with two things: the steppe is wide—even though I’ve never been there, and the mountains, fuck, yes, the mountains are a thing for themselves. They eat you up, swallow you whole, digest and churn around until their loneliness spits you back out again and you think that nothing else matters. Just them, and that tiny handful of life that’s your own. Fucking insignificant. Nothing, no one, barely remembered, except perhaps for a moment of recognition in a goddamned teahouse.” He shut up, suddenly, had said too much. Vadim flashed a smile. “You’re my favourite enemy, too. Fucking messy Brit.”

“This way, at least, we get to meet and kill interesting people.”