Töre:
Heavenly Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, with Your host of angels, deliver us today from the devil's chokehold. God, grant that neither temptation, shame, nor danger befall thy servants this day. Amen.
Töre:
You see it, God, you see it. The innocent child's death and my revenge. You allowed it. I don't understand you. Yet now I beg your forgiveness. I know no other way to be reconciled with my own hands. I know no other way to live.
Töre:
You see it, God. You see it. The innocent child's death, and my revenge. You allowed it. I don't understand You. I don't understand You. Yet, I still ask your forgiveness. I know no other way to live. I promise You, God... here on the dead body of my only child, I promise you that, to cleanse my sins, here I shall build a church. On this spot. Of mortar and stone... and with these, my hands.
Beggar:
Flying birds find something, sitting birds only find death. I have found both women and churches.
Beggar:
See the smoke trembling under the roof as if with fright? Yet when it gets out in the air, it has the whole sky to swirl about in. But it doesn't know that, so it huddles and trembles in the soot under the roof. It's the same with people. They quiver like a leaf in the storm, afraid of what they know and what they don't know.
Märeta:
If you always get your way, you'll please the devil so much that the saints will punish you with boils.
