Tears of the Wrath-Bearing Tree

American Gods 3×10

Mr. Ibis: In 1918, the Coast Geodetic Survey, using a cardboard cut-out balanced on a pin, determined the geographic center of America to be 2.6 miles north of Lebanon, Kansas, on Johnny Grib's hog farm. Johnny Grib didn't share his neighbors' eagerness to cash in on his sudden fame, so they erected a monument a half mile away. They also built a motel for the tourists who were sure to visit the center of America. Only, the tourists didn't come. Nobody did. Because we are standing at ground zero of the least sacred place in America. If the House on the Rock is a place of spiritual power, this, uh, is a soulless void. A wasteland Gods fear and men avoid.

Shadow: When were you planning on telling me?
Mr. Ibis: One shock at a time.

Czernobog: Hey. Can you believe this idiot thinks that he will sit the vaka for Votan?
Mr. Ibis: Oh. Vigil for a Norse God requires being bound upon Yggdrasil, the World Tree, as Odin once did.
Shadow: Okay.
Mr. Ibis: For 9 days and 9 nights. An endurance test for a God, a death sentence for a mortal.

Czernobog: Where is the cow?

Laura: Three lifetimes; I'm still trusting the wrong fucking people.

Czernobog: You talk of peace? Respect? While you hide behind a mortal female, huh? You mudák!...

Mr. World: Think about it. By the time that you would gather your armies, SHARD will be in completion, and the Old Gods will be de-indexed, erased, and forgotten.

Czernobog: Since we can't do it here, there's a field just in the back, across the street. It's a good place to die. Now, hit straight on the forehead for a quick and clean. If you hit the neck, it will be slow and painful. I recommend the neck. I'll wait in the car.

Shadow: He gave me a purpose. To be a better leader than he ever could've been.
Laura: A leader?
Shadow: Mm-hmm.
Laura: Of what?
Shadow: Change. Before humanity goes down the tubes.
Laura: Okay. So... Are you saying that you're a God now?
Shadow: I'm sayin' I have a destiny. And I need to follow it wherever it takes me.
Laura: Cool. Cool, so you've lost your fuckin' mind.

Laura: Congratulations! You're officially on the way to becoming your old man!

Cordelia: ...we find a way out. We can do like, a... a number 38 or 41 or 50. I don't know. Just... Just don't get on the tree, fuck's sake. You have nothing to prove.
Shadow: I'll see you in nine days.

Technical Boy: All this... for a fucking rock?

Mr. World: People say this is the age of technology. They're wrong. This is the age of manipulation. Trickery is what I do best.

Shadow: If I'm your son, I am a God.
Wednesday: Ah. Jury's still out on that, son, but you're definitely a chip off the old block.
Shadow: No, no, no.
Wednesday: We both crave power. The only difference is, I'm not ashamed of it.

Czernobog: Is this the death of the Old Gods?
Mr. Ibis: Or something much worse...

--
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The Lake Effect

American Gods 3×9

Cordelia: Jesus, you look like shit. When was the last time you slept?
Wednesday: I'll sleep... when I'm dead.

Liam Doyle: You do have a plan for that, I assume? Stabbing a god?
Laura: Yup. Get spear, shank shithead.

Liam Doyle: Do you... really have to kill this dude?
Laura: Yes, I do. Either I go out trying to kill him, or I die breaking my word to the tech Nazis.
Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: Surviving winter in Lakeside is no small feat. We aren't just celebrating the end of winter. We're celebrating our good fortune.

Cordelia: You know, I'm sensing a pattern here. We drop in on old friends of yours, they hate your guts and freak out. You e-eat their food and drink their booze until they calm down. You ever worried that one day it won't work?

Wednesday: It's an end for you and me too, kid. All good things must, huh?
Cordelia: Are you gonna be able to take care of yourself without me?
Wednesday: You sure you've got that the right way around?
Cordelia: Where can we hide in the fair weather, we orphans of the storm?
Wednesday: Evelyn Waugh...

Czernobog: Okay. The assholes are here now.

Mr. World: Our offer to the Old Gods... is their lives... and freedom... to disappear in any corner of America they choose.
Wednesday: That's an offer?
Mr. World: Here is the alternative... SHARD. We're on the cusp of a new age, wherein humanity will forget the Old Gods! And... and you'll all die. Now, you can accept my offer and fade from existence in peace. Or we will... systematically... hunt and kill every one of you that gets in our way.

--
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The Rapture of Burning

American Gods 3×8

Toni: When the cops terrorize people like us, then they become the bad guys.

Technical Boy: You must be far gone indeed to put your faith in the Old Gods to solve your problem...
Ms. World: Relax, it's been repurposed to provide a restorative process by modulating the electro-chemical neural impulses.
Technical Boy: No fucking way. There is one being in the multiverse who will never fall for techno-babble horseshit like that. Moi.

Liam Doyle: Do you swear that's true?
Laura: I swear on my grave... Graves.

Salim: So, you don't trust the guy who refused to kill you, but you fell in love with the guy who did?
Laura: Oh, my God, Salim. I did not "fall in love" with Sweeney. We just went through some shit together, okay?

Salim: ... [It] seems like a risk worth taking.
Laura: Yeah. Maybe if you're some fucking rube who just fell off the turnip truck.
Salim: I have no idea what that means, but what I do know is if you let go of Sweeney's coin or his ashes, you will be acknowledging the harsh reality that he is dead. And you will have to grieve. And it will hurt. But it's the only way for you to move on.

Bilquis: Try to keep up with me here, dim bulb. You are awake. You can't unthink a thought. Repress what you are feeling. You will snap in two. Let them come, whatever they are: Mad, sad, glad, scared. Just don't deny them. Don't act on them. Let them come, and then let them go.

Toni: Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but is it possible you feel ashamed?.. Because sometimes unsafe and ashamed can feel similar, but shame is a whole lot of made-up bullshit.

Tyr: You floss every day? I always wonder why people do or don't...

Salim: We all make our own choices. It'll be all right. Inshallah. If God wills it.

--
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Fire and Ice

American Gods 3×7

Derek: See, see that's what I'm talking about. Right there! Right there! He thinks I'm a fucking fag or somethin'!
Chad Mulligan: I-I... I don't care if you are a... a boy or a girl, or... or-or-or both, or-or neither. Okay? I-I don't get it, but I don't have to! What you did is a crime!

Salim: Now is not the time to be impulsive.
Laura: Impulsive? Because I know what I want? This is not Oman, Salim. In America, women can drive cars. They even let us vote, and some of us can negotiate our own fuckin' deals.

Shadow: Okay. Calm down. Slow down. Why'd he send you here? What... Safe from what?
Cordelia: When my boss announces he's a god and someone is killing his followers, which apparently explains why it's partly cloudy with a chance of human remains! I mean, what the fuck?

Cordelia: Look, I'm not asking if he's crazy. We both know he's bat shit out of his tree. I need to know if any of what he told me is true.... Oh, my God.

Shadow: It's okay. It's okay.
Cordelia: I answered a fucking ad. It was cash under the table. Dude wasn't trying to get in my pants. One minute I'm trying to explain where all the payphones went, and then a flaming body hits the asphalt and he's telling me to chill about all these murders because he's a thousand years old and kicks it with warlocks.

Wednesday: What I have learned... is that cruel fate gives us few opportunities to totally connect with the soul of another.

Shadow: Hey! You don't owe him anything. And-and just so you know, this doesn't get any less dangerous.
Cordelia: So what? I'm just supposed to go back to business as usual knowing gods walk among us? I can't do that. Any more than you can.

Mr. Ibis: "...before one can step into the light of one's own truth, one must first determine what that truth is. Quo vadis, as the Romans say. Where are you going? And why?"

Oshun: It's difficult to invite someone to be a part of something until you are a part of it yourself.

Bilquis: Shadow Moon is a man now.
Eugenia: But he still needs our help. Your help. Only you have the power to find The Other.
Bilquis: The Other?
Eugenia: Shadow Moon's only one-half. He cannot lead the people, the "we" alone. You must find The Other. If you do not, the people can never come together, and these will be our last days.

--
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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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American Gods 3×5

Maximillian the Magnificent: Even the great Edison claimed he'd invented the light bulb before he actually did it. Like all innovators, he understood sometimes you gotta fake it... till you make it.

Shadow Moon: Yeah, right. A start-up and not an electric car in sight? Please.

Shadow Moon: All right, Bieber, do your thing.

Bilquis: I'd come to believe that what others believed of me was me. That I was... the exotic fantasy in the minds of others.
Shadow Moon: But how does something like that even happen?
Bilquis: They create an identity an image for us that serves them. They teach us to see ourselves through a veil.

Bilquis: What the future holds is up to us to decide.

Bilquis: A word of advice. The journey to spiritual awakening... is better with French fries.

Laura Moon: Wow. I thought Purgatory was depressing. Uh... Where the fuck is Wednesday?

Salim: How are you alive? Again?
Laura Moon: Voodoo, baby. I dunno, I guess Baron Samedi's gris-gris did the trick somehow.

Cordelia: Okay, then, give it to me straight. Should I be looking for a new job?
Shadow Moon: As a general lifestyle choice and bid for sanity, abso-fucking-lutely.

Laura Moon: Hey, can I give you some advice?.. You gotta quit moping around being all sad about something that you can't do jack shit about.
Salim: What should I do instead? Go back to selling trinkets?
Laura Moon: I don't know, dude. Learn to play the flute. Or get a full-body tattoo. Take up sky diving! It doesn't matter! Seriously, it doesn't matter. Do you know what happens when you die? Nothin'. Really, absolutely fuckin' nothing. And even once you've been dead for a hundred million years, you still haven't even begun to be dead.

Laura Moon: What?
Salim: You died.
Laura Moon: And?
Salim: Where did you go?
Laura Moon: Ah, this time? For lack of a better word, Purgatory.
Salim: Hmm... So, uh, no 72 virgins?
Laura Moon: Not a one.

Demeter: Yes. You're a lot like him, hmm?
Shadow Moon: Yeah, uh... I'm, I'm not sure that's a good thing.
Demeter: Uh, well, hmm. Being with your father... was like opening a bottle of champagne. Bang. Bubbles. Complete intoxication. But time... takes its toll.

Demeter: The pain of loss can cause even the heart of a god to grow smaller and colder. Until the only thing that remains... is a memory of what could have been.

--
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The Unseen

American Gods 3×4

Orishas: The time will come when we rise together as one. Justice does not sleep. Righteousness comes from the hand of the divine. The power of the master diminishes. Those of us who have been enslaved are the sole force raised from the dust.
Oshun: May the optimism of tomorrow be your foundation for today and I is we, and we is power, and we are powerless if we just become nothing but you and they. May peace be in your hearts and may Orishas lead your way. With the blessing of the One Love...
— We shall overcome. We shall overcome! We shall overcome!

Technical Boy: I told you: Bilquis fucked me up. I need her to unfuck whatever it is that she did to me.

Shadow Moon: Apology not accepted. Not now. Not ever.

Queen Bilquis: I am not alone. I choose to believe that. I have to believe that. I am not alone. I am not alone.

Laura Moon: Um, so, once we've jumped through all of the hoops, do you know when the fuck we finally get outta here?
Cocktail Waitress: One of death's great mysteries... I wouldn't spend a whole lotta time trying to figure it out if I were you. Or you'll end up like that sorry son-of-a-bitch.
Laura Moon: This guy?
Cocktail Waitress: I died summer of '93. He was like that then. Nothing's changed since.

Laura Moon: You haven't by any chance seen a guy in here: super tall, red hair, big mouth, bad attitude, Irish-ish?

Cordelia: I don't think phone numbers actually have that many digits. 21, to be exact.
Mr. Wednesday: Three is a very important number in Norse mythology, signifying royalty. Seven is of equal stature, representing completeness. Do the math.
Cordelia: Three times seven is... Got it.

Shadow Moon: You need to start talkin' or you're gonna start to see some shit that you really can't unsee.

Mr. Wednesday: A monkey shat in my pants.
Cordelia: Everything's gonna be okay.

Laura Moon: Hmm. Tasting. What a concept.

Laura Moon: So, this is him?.. All of him somehow fits in here.

--
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Ashes and Demons

American Gods 3×3

Mr. Wednesday: A favor followed by a lecture is not a favor at all.

Chad Mulligan: You know, uh... I've been looking for, uh, an opportunity to talk to you about the... the other day down at the station. Uh... I hope you understand, I'm just doing my job with... you know, Alison missing, and you being a new guy in town, and you know, what with me being, um, a cop who... happens to be Caucasian, and so forth and... You know, just the optics of you being, um, you know, somebody, uh... somebody who's African American. I just don't want you to get the-the- wrong, uh, idea, uh... Uh... Lakeside isn't that kind of place.
Shadow Moon: Lakeside's still in America, right?
Chad Mulligan: Yeah, I mean, yeah, it is. I see what you're trying to say there, uh, but, you know we're not...

Janice: Oh, sorry. Instagram's taking over my life. What these people will do to get followers.
Mr. Wednesday: Oh, you have no idea. I'm here to see Demeter.
Janice: All right. Is that a first or last name?
Mr. Wednesday: That's the whole name.
Janice: Like Beyoncé?
Mr. Wednesday: Precisely.

Mr. Wednesday: So, uh, what are the residents of Haven Glen Retreat retreating from?
Hank: Reality, mostly.

Usherette: Maybe I should call upstairs.
AV Guy: Why? To find out that nobody knows anything about anything except it's someone else's fault? You already know that.
Usherette: That's why they call it Purgatory.
AV Guy: Working in Hell would be a promotion.

Laura Moon: Oh, creeping Mother of Christ, please tell me we are not doing The Life of Laura Moon.
Usherette: You might learn something...
Laura Moon: Do the words "rest in peace" mean nothing to you people? It was my fucking life! I lived it with my eyes wide open! There's nothing to rehash. Period. Over and out. And, by the way, who here is such a fucking expert on my life that this little shit show's even gonna make any sense?
Usherette: .... That would be you.

Laura Moon: .... And then, it was all downhill from there.
Uherette: It really is better if you just watch.
Laura Moon: I think maybe we could just fast-forward through the rest. And then you can give me my get-out-of-Purgatory-free card and we can part friends.
Usherette: We don't actually make deals.

Mr. Wednesday: "How sharper than the serpent's tooth it is to have a thankless child."

Laura Moon: So... What have we learned here today? Not a fucking thing. I could've told you before I ever got to this shithole that I am the architect of every fucked-up thing that ever happened in my life. That's on me. I'm aware of that. I'm... I'm okay with that. .... The end.

Laura Moon: You've really wasted your time here. And Grandpa's time, and mine. On bullshit that is not only obvious, but redundantly obvious...
Usherette: If you already know all the answers, what is it that you're still so angry about?

Laura Moon: Ah--
Usherette: Say nothing. Do nothing. Just watch.

Laura Moon: It would've been great if I'd have known that before I started fucking up my own life. Or, you know, while I was still alive.
AV Guy: Well, now you know.
Laura Moon: Yeah...

--
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Serious Moonlight

American Gods 3×2

William Huntington Sanders: I own the biggest IT company in the world. Everyone wants something from me. Everyone wants what I have to give. It's like I'm a fucking god. So I come here to restore some balance. Because I thought that you were different than the others.
Queen Bilquis: There are no others like me.
William Huntington Sanders: Oh. Oh, I see. You're special.
Queen Bilquis: As a matter of fact, I am special.
William Huntington Sanders: Because I choose to spend my time with you.
Queen Bilquis: No! Because I am a goddess.
William Huntington Sanders: You're smoke and mirrors. And you're a showgirl. And this is your stage, bought and paid for by William Huntington Sanders. But you can call me Bill.

Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: Ah! Look at the beautiful clunker...
Shadow Moon: Clunker?
Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: Every year, we take a wreck, we put it out on the lake, and then, folks guess the date and the time when it'll break through the ice come spring. And then, the winner splits the pot with the high school. It's really fun. You're gonna love it.

Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: Okay. Just need to, uh, pick a date and a time. When do you think it will go through the ice?
Shadow Moon: ... March... 23rd... 7 p.m. till 8 p.m.

Mr. Wednesday: Half the art of war is knowing when to switch sides.

Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: What's Meg Gunther in a lather about?
Chad Mulligan: Lingerie. Apparently, three pairs of her days-of-the-week underwear: Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday, all went missing from the dryer. So, in her mind, we have a, uh, panty thief on the loose. See, Mike, this is what qualifies as major crime here in Lakeside.
Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: You know, if you're rich, you live in Monte Carlo. And if you're famous, you live in California. But if you're lucky, you live here in... in Lakeside.

Czernobog: I loved every moment together with you, Zorya. But I hated the food you cooked... with my entire soul. I'm sorry. Every meal worse than the last.

--
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A Winter's Tale

American Gods 3×1

Boss: And since this is a government thing, the feds are gonna do a background check, make sure you're not a spy or whatever. Pretty routine. Just, uh... hide the porn when they come to pay a visit.
Shadow Moon: Yeah, sure. Will do.

Laura Moon: When the fuck is he back?
Brigitte: I'm the Lord of the Dead's fuck buddy, not his appointment secretary.

Brigitte: Look, I know Samedi gave it his best shot. Potions, gris-gris, the whole nine. But, heh-heh, resurrecting a god isn't as easy as you'd think. Especially when no one believes in him anymore.
Laura Moon: What if you didn't have to bring him all the way back to life? I mean, what if he just had to be undead enough to perform a relatively simple task?

Brigitte: Good news is, Sweeney's pretty well preserved. If he didn't have god energy, he'd be a puddle of Irish stew by now.

Ms. World: Distract. Misdirect. Make them give a fuck about what we say is important. Your job is to provide and control the narrative.

Mr. Wednesday: We're gonna play Twenty Questions, and they're all yours... Fire away.
Shadow Moon: You really my dad?

Mr. Wednesday: I'm bound to these shores. If I were ever to leave, I would cease to exist. It's one of the penalties you pay for being a god who comes to America.

Mr. Wednesday: I do remember a time when man lived in harmony with nature. But now he's made technology his god. And what's it gotten him? Pesticides in his water, in his food, weapons that can destroy the earth a thousand times over. New Gods. Heh. They're just parasites. The only reason they're here is to make it easier for humanity to indulge in its most self-destructive impulses. Until the world ceases to exist.

Technical Boy: Wo-o-ow! Spectacular new look. And, and I get it. White guys are not on trend. Evolve or perish, am I right?
Ms. World: Sit.
Technical Boy: Great idea.

Ms. World: All it takes is for that old fossil to throw a lightning bolt into the power grid and you're all offline.

Mr. Wednesday: I've been exploring America's forgotten coast. You have no idea how many nude beaches there are down in the Redneck Riviera. They're thumping a helluva lot more than bibles, I can tell you that.

Shadow Moon: So, where are we headed?
Mr. Wednesday: We're off to see Whiskey Jack, a powerful Native American deity. We fell out a couple of hundred years ago, so I wanna see if the animosity endures.
Shadow Moon: Is there anyone you haven't managed to piss off yet?
Mr. Wednesday: ..... I'm thinking.

Shadow Moon: So, these New Gods, are they really even gods?
Mr. Wednesday: If they are, so is indoor plumbing. But they're dangerous and they wield a lot of power.

Mr. Wednesday: So I reckon you got a couple of questions left...
Shadow Moon: Who am I? Really?
Mr. Wednesday: ... You are the son of the All-Father, so walk this path with me and greatness shall be yours.

Queen Bilquis: I intend to stay neutral. I have seen war. It doesn't solve anything. War only brings misery and death.
Technical Boy: Well, I promise that our war is going to help a lot of people, or a few people a lot. Either way, you get to be one of them.
Queen Bilquis: What do you know about war? Have you ever endured its agony? Felt it cut through you, turning you into a thing to be covered with dust?

Shadow Moon: What happened to Betty?
Mr. Wednesday: This is Betty.

Wisakedjak: Follow the Enaemaehkiw.

Mr. Wednesday: Right on time!
Cordelia: Actually, I'm two hours late.
Mr. Wednesday: Oh, the universe is always on schedule. Besides, punctuality: virtue of the bored.

Cordelia: It took me five days to drive up here. I spent Christmas in a truck stop on account of you.
Mr. Wednesday: Ah, it's a made-up holiday anyway.

Mr. Wednesday: The things we do for ungrateful children...

Shadow Moon: I'm good. Do better when I make my own decisions.
Mr. Wednesday: Suit yourself. Man's free will is his most prized asset...

Shadow Moon: Still Betty, huh?
Mr. Wednesday: Same soul, different chassis.

Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: Oh my gosh. What are you doing out in this kind of weather without a proper coat on? I think it's two below zero out there.
Shadow Moon: I just got into town. I didn't... I didn't think it was gonna be this cold.
Ann-Marie Hinzelmann: Up here in the Great North Woods, we call this late summer. January is what we call cold.

--
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Moon Shadow

American Gods 2×8

Mr. World: People... like the idea... that love makes the world go round. It doesn't. You don't lock your doors at night because you love thy neighbor; you deadbolt with reinforced steel because you fear thy neighbor. Fear is order. Fear is control. Fear is... safety. Fear is... fiction.

Mr. World: Before this moment, people in America did not conceive of what an alien spacecraft might look like. They did not believe an alien attack could happen. What made it real... was the fear that it could exist, and the fact that it was feared so deeply meant that it did exist.

Mr. World: Fear is the product of the imagination. It's made up in the mind. The mind can dream and think of anything. You love fear. You love horror. You pay money... for a pair of three-dimensional glasses... and popcorn... for an hour and a half of anxiety.

Mr. World: Fear has no end. Fear is limitless. Fear thrives and feeds on itself, preparing you for calamity, preparing you to believe... that the most important things... are the most dangerous.

Mr. World: If it's real in your mind, it's real in the world.

Mr. World: The more you believe... the more you believe.

Laura Moon: I... I am not my mistakes, Shadow.

Shadow Moon: It doesn't matter. "Sorry" doesn't change anything.

Laura Moon: I'm gonna kill Wednesday. Are you gonna try and stop me?
Shadow Moon: Free country.

---

CEO: Science is the closest we come to wrestling God.
Technical Boy: Why would you want to... wrestle God?
CEO: Because we were made in his image and... I wanna see if we can... match up.

Queen Bilquis: You know what they say about revenge... Dig two graves.

Laura Moon: I just know an I'd-like-to-punch-that-guy-in-the-mouth look when I see one.

Technical Boy: What do you think happens... when you touch a God?
CEO: I don't know. Uh... Like Michelangelo. Flash of light, maybe.
Technical Boy: Like the Sistine Chapel... That's good.

Technical Boy: You. Are. Not, Made in God's image. We are made in yours... With all your flaws. Greed. Hubris.

Technical Boy: Harness me. My only limit is your imagination. Which is a problem. You should work on that.

Technical Boy: Hey... you know what fuels imagination? Fear.

Mr. Ibis: I strongly recommend, my young friend, you view the news through the smoky glass of skepticism, and remember: all writers have a bias.

Mr. Ibis: This is chess. Not a revolution.
Mr. Nancy: ♪ White girl problems ♪
    ♪ She pay a muthafucka to solve 'em ♪
    Brown girl... solutions. It's gonna take a revolution.

The Jinn: What he knows is of little importance. It's what he does that matters.
Mr. Ibis: Oh, Sisyphus. I do hope you manage to get that rock up that hill.
The Jinn: You know me. Eyes of fire. Shit for brains. Salam aleykum, old friend...
Mr. Ibis: Till death do you part...
The Jinn: Sarcasm and death. What a motherfucker.

--
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Treasure of the Sun

American Gods 2×7

Shadow Moon: You know, you keep hanging out under bridges; people are gonna starting thinking you're a troll.

Mad Sweeney: I'm gonna tell you something... This is gallows ground you're walking. And there's a rope around your neck and a raven-bird on each shoulder waiting for your eyes. The gallows tree has deep roots. It stretches from heaven all the way down to hell. And this world... is the only branch from which the rope is swingin'.

Mr. Wednesday: Yggdrasil is ready for war; ergo, I am ready, too. The only question, gentlemen, is, do we know who all our friends are?
Mr. Ibis: Ah... Jacquel will come when you call. Set and Horus, too.
The Jinn: I know some ifrits in Chicago.
Mr. Ibis: And Mama-ji, Czernobog... Nancy, Bilquis.
The Jinn: Bilquis? No, that one is... We cannot rely on the Queen of Sheba.
Mr. Wednesday: She's with us.
The Jinn: All-father, that one is for herself.
Mr. Wednesday: We all are. The trick to wrangling cats is to dangle bait they can all want.
Mr. Ibis: And Bast. We've got Bast.

Mr. Wednesday: Another thing about living in a funeral home is you never have to cook. Mourners are always bringing by their best food.

Laura Moon: You know that I can literally rip people's limbs off, right?

Mama-Ji: You see me here as Kali-ma, the nurturer? But you, dead girl, perhaps you would understand me better as Smashana Kali, the destroyer.

Mama-Ji: Sounds like voodoo. That goddamn voudon. Always so dramatic.

Mama-Ji: The problem is not with the potion; it is why you take it.

---

Queen Bilquis: The gift of the flesh... is the most sacred gift one can make... I read to you from the Psalm of Psalms. "Your love... is better than wine, your scent better than any perfume. Your lips drip with nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue. You are a garden. Your shoots are orchards of pomegranates, henna, saffron, calamus and cinnamon, frankincense and myrrh. You are a fountain. You are all the streams flowing from Lebanon. Let the wind blow upon your garden. Let the divine, through Me... enter your garden and taste your fruit..."

Mr. Wednesday: Oh, I know that smell. That smells like a hot bottle of whiskey and sex in an alleyway. With a top note of failure! Yeah, yeah. Eau de fuck-up. It's gotta be, yes, it is! The one and only, Mad Sweeney!

Mr. Wednesday: You know, I wouldn't go around, if I was you, advertising you lost your treasure to a rotten little dead girl who weighs less than a hundred pounds. Hm?

Mad Sweeney: What are you doing here? What's Wednesday got on you?

Eorann: The world is changing.
Mad Sweeney: It doesn't have to!
Eorann: It does. That's what the world does. It changes. ... So, when the world changes, I beg you to change with it.

Eorann: Listen, husband. Listen to one who doesn't want anything from you but a very long life... together.

Mad Sweeney: Wednesday... Me... Fuck all the gods. We're not the heroes, Shadow.

Mr. Ibis: A storyteller does not concern themselves with the truth. Stories are truer than the truth. These are not literal constructs so much as imaginative recreations.

Mr. Wednesday: Let us enjoy this moment while we can. My presence back on earth here has been felt by old and new. Gungnir is whole again; Yggdrasil has grown up, which means... the proverbial shit is about to hit the fan and this is our proverbial Last Supper. Hm? Are we ready? I am.

Mad Sweeney: Your spear is the sun's treasure, now, you one-eyed cunt.

Mad Sweeney: I used to be a king...

--
On the IMDb
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Donar the Great

American Gods 2×6

♪ Take... ♪
♪ Ten terrific girls but only nine costumes ♪
♪ You're cooking up something grand ♪

Mr. Wednesday: Playing dead convincingly is an underrated skill.

Mr. Wednesday: Would you get my guitar out of the trunk, partner?

Mr. Wednesday: Dies irm, dies illa, Solvet saeclum in favilla, Teste David cum Sibylla. Huh? To dead malls everywhere: may you rot in the detritus of your own cupidity!

Mr. Nancy: I'm gonna count to seven and I'm startin' at four!

Mr. Wednesday: Tell me, wh-why do you wear the flanged thwarts?
Manfred: Sorry?
Mr. Wednesday: The angle cross of fylfot. The rune on Gunnvaldr's stone.
Manfred: Oh, my armband? It's the symbol of our organization. The Friends of New Germany.
Mr. Wednesday: Oh, right. I wasn't aware she'd landed on our shores.

Shadow Moon: All this for a leather jacket?
Sindri: Lou Reed's leather jacket! It's the most powerful item in the whole mall.

Donar Odinson: Why were they wearing the flanged thwarts?
Miss Columbia: They were Nazis, weren't they?
Al Grimnir: They're sheep in search of a shepherd. Like he is a God in search of worshippers.

Miss Columbia: American Nazis... They frighten me, Donnie.
Donar Odinson: They're only men. They're nothing to be afraid of.

---

Mr. Wednesday: He was a moody Jewish kid from Long Island. A destructive, drug-addled genius who defined an era by dredging the depths of his soul and setting them to the music of a badly tuned guitar. Oh, this jacket has rubbed shoulders with David Bowie, Grace Jones, Iggy Pop, Patty Smith. And it simply must be mine.

Mr. Wednesday: Former son. He died.
Shadow Moon: From what I've read, Thor was the son of Odin.
Mr. Wednesday: Donar was his... taken name. Germanic for thunder.

Shadow Moon: I don't understand. I-I-I don't get... how does Thor die? Zorya, I understand. She-she didn't have any believers left, it makes sense. But Thor? Thor? Everybody knows who Thor is. Why didn't he come back?
Mr. Wednesday: There are certain deaths our kind cannot come back from.

Technical Boy: The country, as you probably know, is on the brink of another war.
Miss Columbia: Is it? I've been out of the loop.
Technical Boy: America needs a goddess of substance to take us into the fight. My associates and I know all about you. Hoo, boy. You were doing great until Mademoiselle Liberty came along and stole your thunder. ....
Miss Columbia: She's Roman, actually... Libertas. Resurrected by the French as a gift to the Americans. Funny old world.
Technical Boy: Hm. Roman, French... Whatever. It's the American way of life we're concerned about.

Mr. Wednesday: Sacrifice is the only noble act. As gods, it's our sustenance and currency. I regret nothing.

Mr. Wednesday: Suicide. Suicide: that's the kind of death that Gods can't come back from.

Shadow Moon: Did the Valkyries provide safe passage?
Mr. Wednesday: Honestly?... I have no idea.

--
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The Ways of the Dead

American Gods 2×5

Mr. Wednesday: Grow, Yggdrasil. Grow.

Shadow Moon: You know there's a bathroom, right?
Mr. Wednesday: Yeah.
Shadow Moon: You're pissing on a plant.
Mr. Wednesday: On the world tree? Don't be disgusting. How dare you?

Mr. Ibis: Humans are dead longer than they're alive.
Mr. Wednesday: And we want them on bended knee offering up their firstborn and two more kids to be named later.

The Jinn: You know... I was born on Thursday under a scorching desert sun, long before the first wahy. Years later, after the Prophet's revelations, we, Jinn, we were given a choice. Convert to Islam or live our lives as heretic demons. I chose heretic demon...

The Jinn: After all you've seen, you still believe your god is the one true God?
Salim: Yes, of course I do. The first pillar of Islam is, "There is no God but God."
The Jinn: Thomas Jefferson said all men are created equal, but he still owned slaves.

Mr. Wednesday: I'm here to pick up two gentlemen from the city of Sodom.

The Jinn: I'm beholden to him, but he's not my fucking god!

---

Salim: How... how did our motorcycle get here?
Mr. Wednesday: This is not just a motorcycle. This is Hildisvini, Freyja's Battle Boar and sometime lover, eh?

Salim: You are not my God.
The Jinn: He still believes in what he was told. Not what he sees or has experienced. The good little Arab boy, still doing what his parents told him to do.
Salim: What does it matter to you what I believe?

Mr. Wednesday: Here I am. Worship away!
Salim: Your truth, it is not my truth.
The Jinn: No, no. You're entitled to your own truth, Salim, but not your own facts.

Mr. Wednesday: You should come too, Salim. You misguided monotheist. Heh.

Mr. Wednesday: You know, there's still time to join the party train to Valhalla. We shall play where the moon cannot see us...

Shadow Moon: What's missing from someone's soul that they can do that to another? Why would he curse his own people?
Mr. Ibis: Race is no simple equation where one thing equals another. No one hates the children of Israel more than the children of Israel. What you say... also happens to be true for a dozen other ethnicities. But... when you are continually reminded that you have little to no value, it's easy to be convinced that all the rules are stacked against you. Your worst fears are not possible; they are probable.

Mr. Nancy: Well, praise Jesus and four more white zombies.

Shadow Moon: Why are you always trying to piss me off?
Mr. Nancy: Better pissed off than pissed on.

Reverend Hutchins: Leave here. And if you find somewhere... our people aren't catching hell... you let me know where it is. I'll come running.

Mr. Ibis: America is the only country in the world that measures its foot in feet!

Laura Moon: I knew you were his bitch; I didn't realize you were his whore as well.

--
On the IMDb
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The Greatest Story Ever Told

American Gods 2×4

The Father: Listen.
The Son: I know Bach.
The Father: Listen... He'd only just returned from a trip to find that his wife had died. Bach had already lost three children. He would lose seven more. This is grief. And yet... The rising notes of joy... shattering his own rules. Can you hear it?... This is how men like me pray.

Mr. Ibis: Coroners are a political appointment around here. His job is to kick the corpse. If it doesn't kick him back, he signs the death certificate. I'm what they call a prosector.

Mr. Wednesday: Only humans could've come up with monogamy, an unnatural concept. Enjoy your life, my boy. Fuck it, embrace it, exercise neither temperance nor restraint, and leave the past where it belongs: in the past.

Shadow Moon: What's in St. Louis?
Mr. Wednesday: Big city, big money. ... Money is the most influential god in America. Untouchable asshole, but his stock never falls.

Mr. Wednesday: .... this isn't actually a piece of paper; it's a story. And the story that you've heard over and over and over again. And it's been drummed into you that this is worth something. This is of value. No matter what country, culture, or religion. The whole world loves... money. The greatest story ever told.

Mr. Wednesday: So, Money. We get him on our side, Mr. World won't mean shit.

Shadow Moon: Don't you work in Wisconsin?
Mama-Ji: I am at every Motel America. Entrepreneurship is not some picnic.
Mr. Wednesday: Mama-Ji and her followers own more than half the motels in America.
Mama-Ji: And we don't achieve this by sitting on our asses or grifting about like this one.

Mama-Ji: You think America was eager to hand over her money bags to the hungry, the tired, and the poor? We battle for every goddamn scrap.
Mr. Wednesday: You love it.
Mama-Ji: Victory is sweet on the tongue, and profit is sweet on the pocket.
Mr. Wednesday: But you miss the real battles, don't you Kali, eh? The screams and the cries... I recall the day you slew Raktabija. The only sound that day was the whisper of the wind whistling through the blood-soaked grass.
Mama-Ji: We had a good time, huh?

Mr. Nancy: Egyptians told tales of the sacred Book of Thoth, which contains the secrets of the Gods and brings misery, pain, and suffering to anyone who reads it.
Mr. Ibis: And grants a bird's-eye view to He... Who writes it.

Mr. Nancy: You ever notice how traveling makes your mind roll thunder, like a train moving down the track? Except you don't know where the fuck that mind train is headed. And then, all of a sudden, plop... an idea shits in your head. And you think that shit smells good... Peace is a beautiful but shitty idea.

Mr. Nancy: I am not a God in the sense that I can tolerate exploitation, oppression, and repression. My worshippers know freedom ain't free. They know the most potent weapon of control for the oppressor is the mind of the oppressed. They know slavery is not a condition. Slavery is a cult. Human trafficking is a cult.

Mr. Ibis: We have lived long enough to know these troubles are timeless. Suffering is not sacred.
Bilquis: And moral law is final. Sooner or later they all lay before me. War need not be the answer.

---

Technical Boy: Argus was a relic, a desiccating, necrotising, geriatric, organic sack of redundancies. CCTV? Fuck that noise! I fart out a coltan-encased microchip in cherry pink and they line up for miles. Miles! To carry trackers, give up their locations, bank numbers, fucking facial IDs! An endless catalogue of every fuck, every bite, every disgusting nose hair. Every dirty little secret. Every whisper they thought no one could hear...

Mr. Wednesday: No debit, no credit. Oh, so, no debit, no credit. Not even a fucking car loan? What are you, some off-the-grid freak?... Do you know how much Money hates that?

Bilquis: He was not content. He was a rebel, a troublemaker. They say He died for your sins, but that is not the truth. He died because He angered the men in power. He refused to be cowed... controlled. And now look at the power He wields, the worship He commands. He was onto something.

Mr. World: There isn't a need to purchase candy. I retired a God today.

Mr. World: Have you seen what's happened to the world? It isn't 5s, 10s, or 20s anymore. It isn't cash or gold. It's zeros and ones, digitized and encrypted, sent down fiber-optic cables at the speed of light to accounts at banks with no physical location.
Mr. Wednesday: ... Money loves profit. And war is always profitable. It also moves people more than anything else. It inflames their passions, something you would know nothing about. And the more passionate they get, the more they spend, spend, spend. You know that, Money.

Mr. World: You sit at the crossing of two rivers, waiting for a steamship that will never come. Your kind aren't dying; they're dead.

The Bookkeeper: I'm honored to have the big dogs in the God game begging at my table. But money doesn't make emotional investments or invest in emotional entities. Too much risk in such ventures. Not enough opportunity.
Mr. Wednesday: You could always hedge your bets!...

Mr. Wednesday: I'm gonna win this one. People like me more than they like you.
Mr. World: I prefer to be feared.

--
On the IMDb
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Muninn

American Gods 2×3

Mr. Wednesday: Did we sit on a wall? Did we have a great fall?... Sweeney, pick up the arms and the talkie bits, would you?

Mr. Ibis: Right arm... Five pounds, two ounces. Loss of one ounce to necrosis plus a quarter ounce of maggots...
Mr. Wednesday: Nature's way of saying you've overstayed your welcome.

Laura: I wonder how much longer I'm gonna be fixable...

Mr. Ibis: The advantage of love at first sight... is it doesn't require a second look.

Technical Boy: Uh... How the fuck is that an upgrade?

Laura: What is this place again?
Mr. Wednesday: Oh, ask the local tinfoil-hat brigade. They'll tell you it's the secret HQ for the Deep State, the Illuminati, the men in black. Ask the local council, city hall, they'll tell you, "Ah, it's just a warehouse full of computers."
Laura: What's the truth?
Mr. Wednesday: Truth is Argus, and the truth doesn't care which version you prefer. The truth is just information. And information will win the war for you, if you let it.

---

Salim: I didn't picture the Corn Palace like this. In my head it was a lot more yellow. Like corn.
The Jinn: Roadside attractions are all about the green.

Shadow Moon: You're human, right? You're not some buffalo queen, pulling coins outta hoards, turn into fucking spiders?

Mr. Wednesday: What's the worst thing you can do to a book?
Laura: Um... Ignore it?

Technical Boy: We need a plan of attack.
New Media: Mm. Man with a plan. Love it.
Technical Boy: I'm in charge.
New Media: I'll sing backup... Got it! #NotMe, #You!

Mad Sweeney: So, you're going all the way to New Orleans, then?
Christian Rocker: Yeah, we're bringing our message there tonight. We are just so happy to have you. Have you accepted Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior?

Shadow Moon: I don't want luck. I want peace.

--
+ Quotes on the IMDb
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The Beguiling Man

American Gods 2×2

Czernobog: This is not good. There's... much to be done. The bell must ring. Mirrors covered. Windows opened. We must sprinkle the holy salt—

Czernobog: Wōtan... this country... is no good.

Mr. Wednesday: Mama-ji, you hear the battle cries. May I count on your blades?
Mama-Ji: You brought the fight to my doorstep! I have no choice but to resume the lopping of heads, drinking of blood, and liberating of souls... That is, if I can swap my weekend shift with Arjun.

Mr. Wednesday: Great battles require great preparation.
Anansi: And sacrifice to you.

Mr. Town: You're one tough motherfucker, Shadow Moon. I'll give you that. Is that why Cargo needs you? Hmm?
Shadow Moon: I don't know who the fuck Cargo is.
Mr. Town: He calls himself All-Father. Grimm. He goes by the name... Wednesday.

Mr. Town: Let me ask you a question. When somebody... when somebody tells you to rob a casino, or a bank, then you do it. When someone tells you to join the Old Gods in a secret war against the New Gods, then you do it. You are always just going with the flow, Shadow. And I need to know, why? Why the fuck is that?! Hmm?
Shadow Moon: ... Curious spirit.

Laura: I don't believe in luck. I don't. I'm an atheist... God is a fairy tale for grown-ups.
Mad Sweeney: Well, you're in the fairy tale now, aren't ya? ...
Laura: You things are not gods, by the way. You're made by people. People who need answers and they're too fucking lazy to look for them themselves. I mean, who the fuck ever needed a leprechaun? You take and you take and you take and what do you give back to people? Nothing. You are monsters under the bed, just fucking with human lives.

Laura: I don't know what kind of syphilitic time period spawned leprechauns, but in my world, infidelity does not warrant a death sentence.
Mad Sweeney: Where I'm from, it's the greatest sin. To betray your sworn true love is the crime of a coward...
Laura: Cow!

---

Shadow: Is there a book that you haven't read?
Shadow's Mom: A good book is a loyal and constant friend.

Shadow's Mom: Those boys and those cops, they want the same things we do: to be valued, to matter in this world. And to feel some love.
Shadow: But they don't even know me.
Shadow's Mom: They think they do. Their whole life they've been hearing a story about who you are. And you're the enemy in that story. One who will take what they have. Keep them from getting what they want.
Shadow: But that's not me.
Shadow's Mom: It doesn't matter. Most things people believe about the world are lies.

Mad Sweeney: Jesus, woman, are there any flies in the state of Wisconsin that aren't flocking to ya?

The Caretaker: That's the funny thing about magic. It takes years of practice. For most people.

Shadow's Mom: There's a light in you that is stronger than anything else.
Shadow: I don't feel it.
Shadow's Mom: It's there.
Shadow: How do you know?
Shadow's Mom: I gave it to you. I give it to you every day.

Laura: What's your shortcut, please?
Mad Sweeney: It's a little bit like the backstage. But a lot smaller. It's a place I can hide things. Be a tight squeeze getting through there with your manky hide but I can try. If it's that important to you.

Laura: You know, you could try a little gratitude every now and then. Might improve your luck...

Mr. Town: I work for the Gods. They gave us penicillin and streaming porn and aircraft carriers that circle the globe. You're siding with the relics who, quite frankly, don't deserve an ounce of your faith.

Mad Sweeney: Smile. It's just a bit of fun.

--
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House on the Rock

American Gods 2×1

Mr. World: I can't sell war without my best salesman. You... need to find her..... Find Media.

Laura: What is the House on the Rock?
Mr. Wednesday: A place where people come to look, play, and wonder.
Laura: Like Disney World.
Mr. Wednesday: Dear old Walt... Built a Magic Kingdom without any magic.

Narrator: ... And people came to see him build it. The curious and the puzzled, and those who were neither; they could not honestly have told you why they came. So, he did what any sensible American male of his generation would do: he began to charge them money. Nothing much. A nickel. A quarter. And he kept building, and the people kept coming....

Shadow Moon: "Every ending is a new beginning.
Your lucky number is none.
Your lucky color is dead.
Motto: Like father, like son."
Mr. Wednesday: Oh, like all fortunes, Shadow: opaque on arrival, inevitable in retrospect.

Mr. Wednesday: Time... to ride.

Odin: .... A new life in a new land. Our true believers passed away, or stopped believing. Left us to fend for ourselves, to get by on what little smidgens of belief or worship we could find. And that's what we've done. We've gotten by. We live in cracks at the edges of society. Old, forgotten gods... in a land without gods. But there are New Gods growing in America. They've already replaced us. Now they want to destroy us, completely, and if you think otherwise, you are fooling yourselves.

Bilquis: The choice is yours. Evolve or die.

---

Mr. Wednesday: Shadow Moon... To be continued in what some call the real world.

Shadow Moon: Seriously, are... are you not worried about cancer?
Czernobog: I am... cancer.

Laura: He's my husband. If you hurt him, I will kill you.

Mr. Wednesday: Hey, Shadow! I want you to come over here and meet Mama-ji! Biggest, badass demon killer this side of Ranchipoor.

Mad Sweeney: Hurts when someone takes what's yours. Doesn't it?

Mr. World: Never, ever let anyone know I said this. But, sometimes... the old ways are the best. There's nothing like a knife in the back... for close-up efficiency.

Zorya Vechernyaya: You are such... a bad good man.

--
On the IMDb
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Come to Jesus

American Gods 1×8

& Mr. Nancy: This is all too big. Too much going on at once.

& Mr. Nancy: .... When the queen was done with you... you were gone. Worse ways to go... Clothes and hair change with the times, but this queen, ha-ha, she kept the party going.

& Mr. Nancy: Our queen’s power... which is the power of all women, the power of rebirth, and creation... it makes some men kneel in awe and give gifts. But it makes other men angry. And you know it: Anger gets shit done.

& Mr. Nancy: So long as I’m still alive, I can adapt.

& Mr. Nancy: And there is no end to the cruelty of men threatened by strong women.

& Technical Boy: Worship is a volume business. Whosoever has the most followers wins the game... Wanna play?

& Mr. Nancy: Life is long when you got regret. A moment can last forever when you can see how it should have gone.

& Mr. Wednesday: We have to be presentable, where we’re going.

& Mr. Wednesday: You’re confused. You got a lot of questions, but you don’t know how to ask them. Do not confuse confusion for anger.
    Shadow Moon: I’m not confused. I’m very confused.

& Mr. Wednesday: We might not be welcome at first...

& Shadow Moon: Heh, forgot it was Easter.
    Mr. Wednesday: Well, it is Sunday, 16th of April, seven days after the vernal equinox.
    Shadow Moon: I love Easter.
    Mr. Wednesday: Oh, many do. Some for the rabbits, some for the resurrection. Most think of the food. All that fucking sugar, huh? They don’t think of the truth of the day. And why would they?

& Mr. Wednesday: Well, yeah, you could... you could call this Easter. Or we could call it what it really is: a pagan ritual, the celebration of the beginning of spring dating back about 12,000 years.

& Mr. Wednesday: So, when you see children dipping eggs in vinegar the colors of their favorite toys, or when you see the nation’s youth fleeing south for copulation, or when they spread their seed over that sinking mass that is the great state of Florida, they all... without realizing it do it in her name... Ostara.

& Shadow Moon: That’s... Easter? Because people... believe in Easter.
    Mr. Wednesday: Believing is seeing. Gods are real if you believe in them.
    Shadow Moon: .... Gods.
    Mr. Wednesday: Uh-huh.

---

& Shadow Moon: That’s Jesus Christ.
    Mr. Wednesday: A Jesus Christ. Some Jesus Christ. For every belief, every branch, every denomination they see a different face when they close their eyes to pray.

& Ostara: Well, I deal in sugar, Sugar, and you’re the sweetest damn thing I’ve ever seen.

& Mr. Wednesday: Millions upon millions exchange tokens and observe the rituals of your festival, all down to the hunting of the hidden eggs, but does anybody pray in your name? Do they say it in worship? Oh, they mouth your name, hmm, but they have no idea what it means. None whatsoever. Same every spring. You do all the work, he gets all the prayers.

& Mr. Wednesday: It’s her day. You took it. You crucified her day! When they started following you, everybody else got burned. In your name. Happy fucking Easter!

& Mr. Wednesday: Oh, they will worship you. They will... worship you if you make them pray.

& Technical Boy: You’ve been avoiding me. My mistake. I used the phone. Worst thing you can do to someone is call them.

& Laura: Jesus Christ. Are they all... Jesuses? Right, of course, ’cause... Jesus is real. Hmm.

& Ostara: You all think I’m like you. I am not like you. You, I’m particularly not like.

& Laura: Did, um... did Jesus go through his own apocalypse before you brought him back to life?
    Ostara: Oh, I didn’t bring Jesus back to life, no. He was dreamed back to life on my day. A very narrow sliver in that Venn diagram.

& Laura: I was killed... by a god? Which... fucking... god?!

& Media: Never saw you look quite so pretty before. Happy Easter, Easter.

& Laura: I swear to Jesus. He’s right outside.

& Mad Sweeney: It wasn’t a perfect plan. Didn’t account for divine intervention, did you?

& Laura: The whole fucking time, the robbery, Shadow going to jail, me dying, act of god? Just fucking with us to fuck with us?
    Mad Sweeney: What do you think gods do? They do what they’ve always done: they fuck with us. They fuck with all of us. Just don’t take it personally. I don’t.

& Media: You feel you’ve been treated unfairly?
    Ostara: I feel misrepresented in the media.
    Media: Put a pillow over that feeling and bear down until it stops kicking. St. Nick took the same deal you did. The only reason why you’re relevant today is because Easter is a Christian holiday... It’s religious Darwinism. Adapt and survive. What we have achieved together, you and I, is no small feat. Now that we’re living in an atheist world.

& Media: What happens if they all decide that God doesn’t exist?
    Mr. Wednesday: What if they decide God does exist?
    Media: Whose god? They’re not all going to choose just one.
    Mr. Wednesday: Well, it doesn’t matter. Plenty of worship to go around once worship gets redistributed.
    Media: We are the distributors. The platform and the delivery mechanism. We control the story. We control the flow.
    Technical Boy: We are the flow.
    Mr. Wednesday: What you offer is existential crisis aversion. Don’t look over there, look over here. Don’t listen to that, listen to this. You provide a product, an innovative distraction and you keep innovating it and you keep providing it. The beauty of what we do is we only need to inspire.

& Mr. Wednesday: Do you know me? Do you know what I am? Do you want to know my name?
    Shadow Moon: Tell me.
    Mr. Wednesday: This is what I am called. I am called Glad-O-War, Grim, Raider, and Third. I am One-eyed. I am also called Highest, and True-Guesser. I am Grimnir, and the Hooded One. I am All-Father, Gondlir, Wand-bearer. I have as many names as there are winds. As many titles as there are ways to die. My ravens are Huginn and Muninn. Thought and Memory. My wolves are Freki and Geri. My horse is the gallowed. I am... Odin!

& Laura: I’d like to have a word with my husband.

--
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A Prayer for Mad Sweeney

American Gods 1×7

& Mr. Ibis: Irish Red Ale... Brewed it just like the Franciscan monks in Kilkenny in 1231... The well water was poison. This beer saved lives.

& Mr. Ibis: ’It is fine fiction that America was founded by pilgrims seeking freedom to believe as they wished, that they came to the Americas, spread and bred and filled the empty land. In truth, the American colonies were as much a dumping ground as an escape, a forgetting place—’

& Mr. Ibis: ’In the days when you could be hanged in a London prison for the theft of 12 pennies, the Americas became a symbol of clemency. Transportation, it was called. For five years, for 10 years, for life, you were sold to a captain and would ride his ship crowded tight as a slaver’s. Off the ship you were sold as an indentured servant to the one who would take the cost of your skin out in your labor. But at least you were not waiting to hang in an English prison. And when your years of indenture were complete, you were free to make the best of your new world. Of the New World.

& Essie MacGowan: We leave a meal for the fair folk if we want their blessings. We don’t skimp, neither. The cream from the milk, the softest crumb you’ve got at hand. For it’s favor on one side of the coin, and wrath on the other. Ballybogs, no doubt, they can be reasoned with. Leprechauns, oh, they’re a different story altogether. Help you with your troubles one day, and bite your eyes out the next!

& Essie MacGowan: .... So you see, the faerie folk may be small, don’t let that fool ya. They can make real trouble unminded.

& Mr. Ibis: ’Intelligence has never been uncommon among women. And beauty is had by all of 17.’

& Mr. Ibis: ’...one does not ask favors of a leprechaun without a kindness of gold.’

& Mr. Ibis: ’Essie was sentenced to seven years transportation...’

& Laura: «...Sadly, both Derek and the calf were killed by a lightning strike a year to the day after its birth.»
    Mad Sweeney: What you get for putting a god in a petting zoo.

& Laura: So do you love God? Or are you in love with God?

---

& Mad Sweeney: Christ. Can a man get a moment alone with his prick?

& Mad Sweeney: Trust me, you don’t want this one hitting you.

& Mr. Ibis: ’Though the work was not honest, she lived by her own labors and owed thanks to no man.’

& Mr. Ibis: ’Unfortunately, the more abundant the blessings, the more we forget to pray.’

& Mad Sweeney: To hell with them and their gallows. Give them a good, long piss as you dangle. Make a mess for them to mop after. So long as you don’t go easy.

& Mad Sweeney: I was a king, once. I was. Then they made me a bird. Then Mother Church came along and turned us all into saints, and trolls, and faeries. General Mills did the rest.

& Mad Sweeney: I owe a battle.
    Laura: You’re following Wednesday so that you can fight in his war and die, and for that, you run his errands?
    Mad Sweeney: I done worse than that...

& Laura: Dying worked for me. Everyone should try it at least once.

& Gran Essie: Of course, you must never fall asleep by a stream. No, for the alp-luachra might crawl into your mouth and make his home in your belly. For that joint-eater will take the good out of your supper so no matter how much you eat, after, you’ll never be full up, never. Never. Never. Never!

& Mad Sweeney: Créd as co tarlaid an cac-sa dam? Nach lór rofhulangas? Is lór chena, níam olc! Níam!

& Essie: If you are who I think you are, I have no quarrel with you.
    Mad Sweeney: Nor I with you. Although it was you that brought me here, you and a few others like you. Into this land with no time for magic, no place for faeries and such folk.

& Essie: I... you have done me many a good turn.
    Mad Sweeney: Good and ill. We’re like the wind, we blows both ways.
    Essie: Aye.

& Mad Sweeney: Will you take my hand, Essie MacGowan?

--
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