Lucy Honeychurch: Mother doesn't like me playing Beethoven. She says I'm always peevish afterwards.
Revered Beebe: I can see how one might be… stirred up.
Mr. Emerson: I don't care what I see outside. My vision is within! Here is where the birds sing! Here is where the sky is blue!
George Emerson: He's the sort who can't know anyone intimately, least of all a woman. He doesn't know what a woman is. He wants you for a possession, something to look at, like a painting or an ivory box. Something to own and to display. He doesn't want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn't love you. But I love you. I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms. It's our last chance…
Lucy Honeychurch: I have to go. They trust me.
Mr. Emerson: Why should they, when you deceived everyone, including yourself?
The Reverend Mr. Eager: Remember the facts about this church of Santa Croce; how it was built by faith in the full fervour of medievalism.
Mr. Emerson: Built by faith indeed! That simply means the workers weren't paid properly.
George Emerson: It is fate, but call it Italy if it pleases you, Vicar.