Edith Cushing: You're monsters. Both of you.
Lucille Sharpe: Funny. That's the last thing Mother said, too.
Edith Cushing: You lied to me.
Thomas Sharpe: I did.
Edith Cushing: You poisoned me.
Thomas Sharpe: I did.
Edith Cushing: You said you loved me.
Thomas Sharpe: I do.
Thomas Sharpe: I cannot leave you here. In fact, I find myself thinking about you even at the most inopportune moments of the day. I feel as if a link exists between your heart and mine, and should that link be broken, either by distance or by time, then my heart would cease to beat and I would die.
Thomas Sharpe: The nearest house is miles away, and the closest town is a half day's walk.
Lucille Sharpe: But the horror... The horror was for love. The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all.
Lucille Sharpe: She knows everything. She stopped drinking her tea, but I poisoned the porridge.
Thomas Sharpe: Lucille, stop it! Do we have to do this? Must we?
Lucille Sharpe: Yes.
Society Girl: It seems he's a baronet.
Society Girl: What's a baronet?
Society Girl: Well, an aristocrat of some sort.
Edith Cushing: A man that feeds off land that others work for him. A parasite with a title.
Society Girl: This parasite is perfectly charming and a magnificent dancer. Although, that wouldn't concern you, would it, Edith, our very young Jane Austen?
Edith Cushing: I heard you the first time.
Thomas Sharpe: You're so... different.
Edith Cushing: From who?
Thomas Sharpe: ...everyone.
Thomas Sharpe: Where I come from, ghosts are not to be taken lightly.
Lucille Sharpe: The more the house sinks, the worse it gets. We must do something about it.
