| Quote | (S)hakespeare or (B)atman |
|---|
| He is come to open the purple testament of bleeding war. | |
| Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre. I see, as in a map, the end of all. | |
| Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are. | |
| I will break and twist things within you. You can't conceive of the pain I can cause. | |
| You'll hunt me. You'll condemn me, set the dogs on me. | |
| I will not become an executioner. | |
| Smoldering, I burn you—burning you, I flare, hot and bright and fierce and beautiful. | |
| As a man, I'm flesh and blood. I can be ignored, I can be destroyed. | |
| Weep I cannot. But my heart bleeds. | |
| I am a feather for each wind that blows. | |
| We both stared into the abyss, but when it looked back at us, you blinked. | |
| Then all you've waited for is a puppet. A soulless little doll. | |
| I will grind your bones to dust. And with your blood and it I’ll make a paste. | |
| Did I finally reach the limits of reason? And find the Devil waiting? | |
| They have tied me to a stake—I cannot fly. But, bear-like, I must fight the course. | |
| Sometimes it's only madness that makes us what we are. | |
| Your feast is nearly over. From this moment on, none of you are safe. | |
| I will grind your bones to dust. And with your blood and it I’ll make a paste. | |
| And as the sun, that had been too afraid to show its face in this city, started to turn the black into grey, I smiled. | |
| Did I finally reach the limits of reason? And find the Devil waiting? | |
| Then all you've waited for is a puppet. A soulless little doll. | |
| I will not become an executioner. | |
| As a man, I'm flesh and blood. I can be ignored, I can be destroyed. | |
| You'll hunt me. You'll condemn me, set the dogs on me. | |
| You cannot stop me, not with wine or vows or the weight of age. You cannot stop me, but still you try. | |
| Smoldering, I burn you—burning you, I flare, hot and bright and fierce and beautiful. | |
| We both stared into the abyss, but when it looked back at us, you blinked. | |
| I will break and twist things within you. You can't conceive of the pain I can cause. | |
| I'm a man of thirty—of twenty again. The rain on my chest is a baptism. I'm born again. | |
| I can live no longer by thinking. | |
| They have tied me to a stake—I cannot fly. But, bear-like, I must fight the course. | |
| ...and darkness be the burier of the dead. | |
| Welcome destruction, blood, and massacre. I see, as in a map, the end of all. | |
| Hell is empty, and all the devils are here. | |
| Weep I cannot. But my heart bleeds. | |
| ...how many hours bring about the day, how many days will finish up the year, how many years a mortal man may live. | |
| I am a feather for each wind that blows. | |
| He is come to open the purple testament of bleeding war. | |
| As flies to wanton boys are we to the gods—they kill us for their sport. | |
| The weight of this sad time we must obey. | |
| Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand. Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. | |
| That blood should sprinkle me to make me grow. | |
| We die every day...a thousand times an hour. | |
| Grief forgives what can never be forgiven. | |
| I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in my arms. | |
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