Milo Tindle: We are from different worlds, you and me, Andrew. In mine, there was no time for bright fancies and happy inventions, no stopping for tea. The only game we played was to survive, or go to the wall. If you didn't win, you just didn't finish. Loser, lose all. You probably don't understand that.
Andrew Wyke: On the morning of his execution, King Charles the First put on two shirts. 'If I tremble with the cold, ' he said, 'my enemies will say it was from fear. I will not expose myself to such reproaches.' We must also attempt this Anglo-Saxon dignity as you mount the steps to the scaffold.
Milo Tindle: Alright, I'll do it. Where do you want me to break in?
Andrew Wyke: Not so fast. You've got to get disguised first.
Milo Tindle: What for?
Andrew Wyke: Suppose somebody saw you coming.
Milo Tindle: Here? In the middle of nowhere? I could hardly find this place with a bloody map.
Andrew Wyke: You never know. A dallying couple, a passing sheep-rapist.
Andrew Wyke: Milo, baby, lemme handle this one, eh? Crime's my baaag. I got this caper worked out ta the last detail.
Andrew Wyke: It's sex! Sex is the game! Marriage is the penalty. Round and round we jog towards each futile anniversary. Pass "Go." Collect 200 rows, 200 silences, 200 scars in the deep places.
Andrew Wyke: Put that back, please! It's an old Egyptian blocking game. It's taken me rather a long time to get it there.