Shreyer: Thirty years, Jesus. You postponed that talk for thirty years, didn't you? You were too busy, I understand. You were busy fighting the system! I've spent thirty years searching for you. You're good at hiding. You've spent thirty years hiding cute little babies from a baby-eater like me. The others' babies. You never had time for your own, hadn't you? You spent thirty years trying to abolish the Law of Choice. Maybe, because you were unable to make the right choice yourself, and that's it?
Rokamora: I wasn't supposed to! No one is!
Shreyer: Because you just chickened out? Leaved her like a bastard? (...) You've spent thirty years running away from this talk. It's easier for you to die than talk to me, isn't it? You know what makes me sad? Not that she cheated on me with a coward. I don't care that this man was a poor gigolo. I'm sad because she chose to dump me for someone as pathetic as you. She'd waited for you, Jesus. For all those four years I spent searching for her. Did you visit her at least once? Did you call her?
Rokamora: I don't wanna talk about it!
Shreyer: Maybe you were afraid of an ambush? But back then, you were not a notorious terrorist. You were just a stripper, seducer of the bored rich damsels, a stinky poor dog. A dog which fucked someone else's bitch.
Rokamora: It's your fault, Shreyer! Yours! You made her do this!
Shreyer: Everyone's to blame, but not you.
Rokamora: I loved her!
Shreyer: And that's why you leaved her alone. She run from her husband for you, and what you did?
Rokamora: What have you done to her?!
Shreyer: What a sudden interest! You managed to suppress your curiosity for thirty years, and now suddenly you want to know everything!
Rokamora: I had tried! Tried to find them!
Shreyer: But you didn't. You, with all your connections, with your hacker friend, didn't.
Rokamora: I wasn't supposed to! No one is!
Shreyer: Because you just chickened out? Leaved her like a bastard? (...) You've spent thirty years running away from this talk. It's easier for you to die than talk to me, isn't it? You know what makes me sad? Not that she cheated on me with a coward. I don't care that this man was a poor gigolo. I'm sad because she chose to dump me for someone as pathetic as you. She'd waited for you, Jesus. For all those four years I spent searching for her. Did you visit her at least once? Did you call her?
Rokamora: I don't wanna talk about it!
Shreyer: Maybe you were afraid of an ambush? But back then, you were not a notorious terrorist. You were just a stripper, seducer of the bored rich damsels, a stinky poor dog. A dog which fucked someone else's bitch.
Rokamora: It's your fault, Shreyer! Yours! You made her do this!
Shreyer: Everyone's to blame, but not you.
Rokamora: I loved her!
Shreyer: And that's why you leaved her alone. She run from her husband for you, and what you did?
Rokamora: What have you done to her?!
Shreyer: What a sudden interest! You managed to suppress your curiosity for thirty years, and now suddenly you want to know everything!
Rokamora: I had tried! Tried to find them!
Shreyer: But you didn't. You, with all your connections, with your hacker friend, didn't.
— Erich Shreyer to Jesus Rokamora, on why he didn't truly love Anna, despite all his claims to contrary.
Yan: One hundred twenty billions would die! What you would change?!
Beatrice: As they should've. Everything live dies. We aren't gods. And can't become. We've hit the roof. We can't change anything, because we can't change ourselves. The evolution has stopped — on us. Death used to provide us with rejuvenation. Reset. But we've cancelled it. We're wasting our immortality. Was there any great novel written in the last hundred years? Any great movie made? Any great discovery? Everything I can remember is very old. We used our eternity for nothing. Death used to push us forward, Jacob. Death used to make us hasten. Used to force us to use our life. Death used to be seeable everywhere. Everyone knew about it. This is a structure: here's a beginning, and here's an end.
Beatrice: As they should've. Everything live dies. We aren't gods. And can't become. We've hit the roof. We can't change anything, because we can't change ourselves. The evolution has stopped — on us. Death used to provide us with rejuvenation. Reset. But we've cancelled it. We're wasting our immortality. Was there any great novel written in the last hundred years? Any great movie made? Any great discovery? Everything I can remember is very old. We used our eternity for nothing. Death used to push us forward, Jacob. Death used to make us hasten. Used to force us to use our life. Death used to be seeable everywhere. Everyone knew about it. This is a structure: here's a beginning, and here's an end.
— Beatrice Fukuyama to Yan, on why immortality is a curse, not boon.
