- Self - Host: Good evening. Of course you're all here by invitation, but don't let it disturb you if these paintings, per se, don't happen to be your thing. These are rather special paintings, the kind of hangings generally put up with a noose. This painting, for example, is of a rather special world, what has become perpetuated in the language as the ghetto - that dismal realm of pushcarts and poverty where hopes are stamped down like dirty shoes on snow. Death is a commonplace visitor to these somber alleys... but occasionally someone else visits. Our painting is called "The Messiah On Mott Street", and this place, should you not already know it, is the Night Gallery.
- Abraham Goldman (segment "The Messiah on Mott Street"): I have a message for you, you snuffer-out of candles. I know who you are. To your unseen face, I tell you: I am not ready for the Angel of Death. You, I'm not ready for. Take that back to the cemetery. Goldman is not ready! My pulse still beats. My eyes still see, my flesh still warm. And my heart, you manzer from a mausoleum, my heart still loves! What? Peace , you offer me? You can have that peace. Peace of the grave. No, no thank you. Rest? And who cares? Well, I'll take the cares and the woes and the aggravation and the anguish. Yes, and the pain. Listen, Angel: go down to Argentina and look for Hitler! Goldman is not ready!
- Buckner (segment "The Messiah on Mott Street"): What makes you think I'm the Messiah?
- Mikey Goldman (segment "The Messiah on Mott Street"): Because you're black, big, and loud.
- [Buckner laughs]