“And what sort of lives do these people, who pose as being moral, lead themselves? My dear fellow, you forget that we are in the native land of the hypocrite.”

“My dear fellow, who will let you?"
"That's not the point. The point is, who will stop me?”

“My dear fellow, the truth isn't quite the sort of thing one tells to a nice, sweet, refined girl.”

“People pay for what they do, and still more for what they have allowed themselves to become, and they pay for it, very simply, by the lives they lead.”

“At this crucial moment in the life of our country, I would like to offer my blood to save the inviolability of our dear native land.”

“Do you mean to tell me that you're thinking seriously of building, when and if you are an architect?”
“Yes.”
“My dear fellow, who will let you?”
“That’s not the point. The point is, who will stop me?”

“In politics, my dear fellow, you know, as well as I do, there are no men, but ideas — no feelings, but interests; in politics we do not kill a man, we only remove an obstacle, that is all.”

“Do you know what morals are? Morals are an obedience to rules that people laid down to help you live among them.”

“In the depths of my heart I can’t help being convinced that my dear fellow-men, with a few exceptions, are worthless.”

“He was evidently the sort of person who posed questions that were traps for you to fall into.”