Conscience of the King

American Gods 3×5

Wednesday: I don't need drugs. I am drugs.

Laura: Jesus Christ, Shadow, what has he ever done to earn your loyalty? Just tell me one thing.
Shadow: I... He's my father.
Laura: Oh... 'kay. Wow, uh... you know, not a lot surprises me anymore. But I gotta tell you, that one's a fuckin' doozy.

Laura: I'm sorry. He's gotta go. And it has to happen sooner rather than later. So, I guess... Wish me luck?

Shadow: Uh, Marguerite, this is Laura, my late wife.
Laura: Ex. Ex-wife.
Shadow: Ex-wife.

Wednesday: Ayahuasca, psilocybin, peyote. Even jimsonweed, yeah. I can understand them, but prescription drugs? How pedestrian.

Technical Boy: Why do you keep saying "emotion"?... I just don't have them.

Wednesday: We gotta get this right in order to achieve the desired effect.
Hank: Okay. This just seems like a lot of work.
Wednesday: Wooing is work, Hank. It is the expression of emotions so deep, they shift gravity's pull, summoning her heart to yours.

Hank: Why do I get the sense it's somewhat autobiographical?
Wednesday: Oh, is it that obvious?
Hank: So, I get that the brave warrior, Tyr, is you, and Miss Wells is the goddess Demeter. But who's this Odin? He's like a colossal asshole.
Wednesday: Everybody's a critic.

Mr. World: What's going on with you?
Technical Boy: Probably just some malware I picked up. Nothing a little anti-virus software and some... chicken soup for the internal receptors won't fix.

Wednesday: Ladies and gentlemen, fellow patients. Tonight we present a shadow play in one act. It's a tragedy of love, loss. Cowardice and, perhaps... redemption. Enjoy.

Wednesday: You were a warrior once. Now you're an oral health janitor.

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