"Bad luck to kill a seabird!"
— Thomas Wake
'DAMN ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead, Winslow! HAAAAAARRRRRK! Hark! Triton! Hark! Bellow! Bid our father, the Sea King, rise from the depths, full-foul in his fury, black waves teeming with salt-foam, to smother this young mouth with pungent slime, to choke ye, engorging your organs 'till ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more... only when he, crowned in cockle shells, with slithering tentacled tail and steaming beard, takes up his fell, be-finnèd arm – his coral-tined trident screeches banshee-like in the tempest and plunges right through yer gullet! BURSTING YE, a bulging bladder no more, but a blasted bloody film now – a nothing for the Harpies and the souls of dead sailors to peck and claw and feed upon, only to be lapped up and swallowed by the infinite waters of the Dread Emperor himself, forgotten to any man, to any time, forgotten to any god or devil, forgotten even to the sea... for any stuff or part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul, is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!"
— Thomas Wake, to Ephraim Winslow, who said that he did not like his cooking
"Alright, have it your way. I like your cooking."
"Why'd ya spill yer beans?"
— Thomas Wake
Wake: Look at ye, handsome lad with eyes bright as a lady. Come to this rock, playin' the tough. Ye make me laugh with yer false grum! Ye pretended to some mystery in yer quietudes, but... there ain't no mystery. Yer an open book. A picture, says I! A painted actress screamin' in the footlights, a bitch what wants to be coveted for nothin' but being born, cryin' bout the silver spoon what should've been yers! Now look at ye. Cryin'... Boo! Boo! Whatcha gonna do? Will y'kill me? Will yeh?! Will ye kill me like ye' done that gull?!
Winslow: I didn't—
Wake: LIAR! YE MURDERIN' DOG! 'Twas ye what changed the wind on us! 'Twas ye what damned us, dog! 'Twas ye! Will y'do what y'wish y'done to ol' Winslow? Would ye best me then? Fer Winslow were right, Thomas! Yer a dog! A filthy dog! A DOG!''
Winslow: I didn't—
Wake: LIAR! YE MURDERIN' DOG! 'Twas ye what changed the wind on us! 'Twas ye what damned us, dog! 'Twas ye! Will y'do what y'wish y'done to ol' Winslow? Would ye best me then? Fer Winslow were right, Thomas! Yer a dog! A filthy dog! A DOG!''
"Y'wish to see what's in the lantern? So did me last assistant.... O what Protean forms swim up from men's minds, and melt in hot Promethean plunder, scorching eyes with divine shames and horror... and casting them down to Davy Jones. The others, still blind, yet in it see all the divine graces, and to Fiddler's Green sent, where no man is suffered to want or toil, but is... ancient... mutable and unchanging as the she who girdles 'round the globe. Them's truth. And you'll be punished."
— Thomas Wake
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
— Winslow
