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A Grande Testemunha

Marie: You bore me.
Jacques: Don't be angry.
Marie: You see our names carved on this bench, our games with Balthazar. But I don't see a thing. I've no more tenderness, no heart, no feelings. Your words don't affect me anymore. Our vows of love, our childhood promises, were in a world of make-believe, not reality. Reality is different.

Marie's mother: He is in despair. Comfort him.
[Marie's father turns away]
Priest: You must forgive. Everyone. Much will be forgiven you. You have suffered.
Marie's father: I may suffer less than you think.
Priest: [Reading] God does not forsake forever. He may punish, yet he will have compassion. He does not willingly afflict the children of men.

Marie: It's not money I need but a friend.
Merchant: Yes, yes. A friend.
Marie: A friend who can tell me how to run away. I've always wanted to.
Merchant: Run away?
Marie: Run away. A friend to share my pleasures and pain.
Merchant: I'll share your pleasures and pain. But I hope it's more pleasure than pain.

Merchant: That's what happens when you place honor above everything. He's spent his life creating obligations for himself. What for? No one in ten believes he's innocent. Do I have any obligations? I'm free, obliged only to do what serves my interests, and can bring me a profit... and a handsome profit at that. Life's nothing but a fairground, a marketplace where even your word is unnecessary. A bank note will do. Paying people frees you from any obligations. Better still, get them to work for nothing. Not everyone sees things my way. You quickly learn you can do as you like and still command respect. It just takes nerve and flair.

Marie: They say you hide gold coins and cash in your shoes. What good does it do you?

Jacques: Father wants to return what your father lost in the suit.
Marie: He won't accept it. He's retreated into his pride. He takes pride in his suffering.

Marie: It's all been spoiled and wasted, just as it was about to pay off. So much has been swept away in so little time.

Marie: Oh, Jacques, how I've dreamed about you, a boy like you, honest, a bit silly, who'd say, "Be mine. It's not your fault."
Jacques: What isn't your fault?

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