Almásy: What do you love?
Katharine Clifton: What do I love?
Almásy: Say everything.
Katharine Clifton: Water, with fish in it. Hedgehogs, I love hedgehogs. Marmite. Baths, but not with other people! Islands. I could go on all day.
Almásy: Go on all day.
Katharine Clifton: Your handwriting.
Almásy: And what else?
Katharine Clifton: A husband.
Almásy: What do you hate most?
Katharine Clifton: A lie. What do you hate most?
Almásy: Ownership. Being owned. What you leave here you should forget me.
[she adopts a look of disgust, pushing him away. She gets out of the tub, picks up her tattered dress and leaves]
Almásy: I just wanted you to know: I'm not missing you yet.
Katharine Clifton: You will.
Almásy: When were you most happy?
Katharine Clifton: Now.
Almásy: When were you least happy?
Katharine Clifton: Now.
Katharine Clifton: I'm impressed you can sew.
Katharine Clifton: You sew very badly.
Almásy: Well, you don't sew at all.
Katharine Clifton: A woman should never learn to sew, and if she can she shouldn't admit to it.
Katharine Clifton: Do you think you are the only one who feels anything?
Almásy: How can you ever smile, as if your life hadn't capsized?
Hana: There's a man downstairs. He brought us eggs. He might stay.
Almásy: Why? Can he lay eggs?
Hana: He's Canadian.
Almásy: Why are people so happy when they collide with someone from the same place? What happened in Montreal when you passed a man in the street? Did you invite him to live with you?
Almásy: There is no God, but I hope someone watches over you.
Katharine Clifton: This - what is this?
Almásy: It's a folk song.
Katharine Clifton: Arabic.
Almásy: No, no. It's Hungarian. My daijka sang it to me when I was a child growing up in Budapest.
Katharine Clifton: It's beautiful. What's it about?
Almásy: Szerelam means love. And the story, well, there's this Hungarian count. He's a wanderer. He's a fool. And for years he's on some kind of a quest for... who knows what. And then one day, he falls under the spell of a mysterious English woman. A harpy, who beats him, and hits him, he becomes her slave, and he sews her clothes, and worships...
[Katharine starts hitting him]
Almásy: Stop it! Stop it! You're always beating me!
Katharine Clifton: Bastard! You bastard, I believed you! You should be my slave.
Almásy: New lovers are nervous and tender, but smash everything. For the heart is an organ of fire.