- Adam Miauczynski: My dear friend on this journey. You built this dark mound to lead the life of a termite. Protected from the sunlight. Closed in your sad rigid rituals. Even if they make you mad, these rituals became your shield against the winds, the waves, against stars and feelings. Every day you struggle to forget your human condition. The clay you are molded from has dried out and hardened. No one will ever find in you an astronomer, musician, altruist, poet or human who lived for even one day.
- Adam Miauczynski: I'm afraid of the night. Maybe not, but I can't go to bed. Even tired and sleepy, i feel anxious. Why must this day end? Will nothing else happen? Before I go to bed, when evening approaches, I will pray to God in Heaven for the worst for my neighbor! I ask God to give him hell. Who am I? I'm a small pole, angry, envious and evil. What's my sign? Big bloody eyes. I pray to God, Mary and Josef to destroy that motherfucker, my neighbor and countryman, my fucking enemy. Make them burgle his garage... Make his wife cheat on him... Let them burn down his shop... Make him taste the brick like The Top... Let his daughter go out with a nigger... and let him suffer all kind of disasters. I wish him AIDS and Cancer. That's what Poles pray for.
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