'As for all this religious business, it's just a money-making dodge.

It's the parson's trade, just the same as painting is ours, only there's no work attached to it and the pay's a bloody sight better than ours is.' 'It's their livin', and a bloody good livin' too, if you ask me,' said Bundy.
'Yes,' said Harlow; 'they lives on the fat o' the land, and wears the best of everything, and they does nothing for it but talk a lot of twaddle two or three times a week.

The rest of the time they spend cadgin' money orf silly old women who thinks it's a sorter fire insurance.' 'It's an old sayin' and a true one,' chimed in the man on the upturned pail.

'Parsons and publicans is the worst enemies the workin' man ever 'ad.

There may be SOME good 'uns, but they're few and far between.' 'If I could only get a job like the Harchbishop of Canterbury,' said Philpot, solemnly, 'I'd leave this firm.' 'So would I,' said Harlow, 'if I was the Harchbishop of Canterbury, I'd take my pot and brushes down the office and shy 'em through the bloody winder and tell ole Misery to go to 'ell.' 'Religion is a thing that don't trouble ME much,' remarked Newman; 'and as for what happens to you after death, it's a thing I believe in leavin' till you comes to it--there's no sense in meetin' trouble 'arfway.