“What, not coins in the bank? Does your purse hang as flaccid as a gelding's scrotum?”

“Those swords are mine! Touch them and I’ll use ‘em to slice off your nut sack! For a coin purse!”

“swis bank & banks like this must be done away with to put an end to plundering of poor nations. the account holders should be hanged.”

“The sun was a molten coin burning a circle in the low-hanging overcast, surrounded by a fairy-ring of moisture.”

“Sure, cried the tenant men,but it’s our land…We were born on it, and we got killed on it, died on it. Even if it’s no good, it’s still ours….That’s what makes ownership, not a paper with numbers on it.""We’re sorry. It’s not us. It’s the monster. The bank isn’t like a man.""Yes, but the bank is only made of men.""No, you’re wrong there—quite wrong there. The bank is something else than men. It happens that every man in a bank hates what the bank does, and yet the bank does it. The bank is something more than men, I tell you. It’s the monster. Men made it, but they can’t control it.”

“By Aladdin's lamplit scrotum, man! Everything is a story. What is there but stories? Stories are the only truth.”