The Lighthouse Movie Poster

Quotes from The Lighthouse

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    • Thomas Wake: How long have we been on this rock? Five weeks? Two Days? Where are we? Help me to recollect
    • Thomas Wake: Since we're gettin' too friendly, Ephraim Winslow, ell me, what's a timberman want with being a wicky?... Not enough quiet for ye up north? Sawdust itchin' yer nethers? Foreman found ye too high tempered for carryin' an axe?
    • Ephraim Winslow: It's like you said, I just... had enough of trees, I guess... Since I left dad, I'd done every kind of work that can pay a man... Some I ain't near proud of.
    • Thomas Wake: Drifter, eh?
    • Ephraim Winslow: No, just... can't find a post I could take a real shine to, so I keep movin' along... I ain't the kind to look back what's behind him, see?
    • Thomas Wake: On the run?
    • Ephraim Winslow: Now look here! Ain't nothin' wrong with a man startin' fresh, startin' new. Just looking to earn a livin'...
    • Thomas Wake: No...
    • Ephraim Winslow: ...Just like any man...
    • Thomas Wake: What.
    • Ephraim Winslow: What.
    • Thomas Wake: What.
    • Ephraim Winslow: What.
    • Thomas Wake: What.
    • Ephraim Winslow: What.
    • Thomas Wake: What.
    • Ephraim Winslow: What.
    • Ephraim Winslow: What made your last keeper leave?
    • Thomas Wake: He believed that there was some enchantment in the light. Went mad, he did.
    • Ephraim Winslow: Tall tales.
    • Thomas Wake: What?
    • Thomas Wake: DAMN YE! Let Neptune strike ye dead, Winslow! HAAAAAARK!
    • Thomas Wake: Why'd ya spill yer beans?
    • Thomas Wake: Keepin secrets eh?
    • Ephraim Winslow: No sir
    • Thomas Wake: Yer fond of me lobster aint' ye? I seen it - yer fond of me lobster! Say it! Say it. Say it!
    • Ephraim Winslow: I don't have to say nothin'.
    • Thomas Wake: Damn ye! Let Neptune strike ye dead Winslow! HAAARK!
    • Thomas Wake: 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 til' ye turn blue and bloated with bilge and brine and can scream no more - only when he, crowned in cockle shells with slitherin' tentacle tail and steaming beard take up his fell be-finned arm, his coral-tine 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 and 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 for part of Winslow, even any scantling of your soul is Winslow no more, but is now itself the sea!
    • Ephraim Winslow: Alright, have it your way. I like your cookin'.
    • Thomas Wake: Should pale death, with treble dread, make the ocean caves our bed, God who hears the surges roll deign to save our suppliant soul.
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