Lady Marchmain: I act only as God directs.
Charles Ryder: Rubbish. God's your best invention. Whatever you want, he does.
Sebastian Flyte: I asked too much of you. I knew it all along, really. Only God can give you that sort of love.
Charles Ryder: I'm sorry.
Sebastian Flyte: Whatever for?
Charles Ryder: Everything.
Cara: That woman nearly suffocated him... Well, just look at her children. Even when they were tiny, in the nursery, they must do what she wants them to do, be what she wants them to be. Only then would she love them. It's not Lady Marchmain's fault. Her God has done that to her.
Charles Ryder: But surely you're Catholic too.
Cara: Oh, yes, but a different sort. Well, it's different in Italy. Not so much guilt. We do what the heart tell us, and then we go to confession.
Sebastian Flyte: Charles! You're to come away at once. I've got a basket of strawberries and a bottle of Chateau Peyraguey, which isn't a wine you've ever tasted so don't pretend.
Lady Marchmain: Drinking is not a hobby, Sebastian.
Lady Marchmain: All I ever wanted was to see them safe. And all they do is hate me.
