"Bad luck to kill a seabird!"
- Thomas Wake
Let Neptune strike ye dead, Winslow! HAAARK!
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
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 aint 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 shouldve 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 ydo what ywish ydone to ol Winslow? Would ye best me then? Fer Winslow were right, Thomas! Yer a dog! A