- James Tyrone: [Edmund has just recited a piece of poetry] You recite it well... Who wrote it?
- Edmund Tyrone: Baudelaire.
- James Tyrone: [Dismissively] Never heard of him. Where you get your taste in authors...
- James Tyrone: [Motioning to Edmund's bookshelves] This damned library of yours: Voltaire and Rousseau and Schopenhauer. And Ibsen... Atheists, fools and madmen! And your poet, this... "Baudelaire." And Swinburne, and Oscar Wilde. Whitman and Poe... Whoremongers and degenerates! When I've got three good sets of Shakespeare there you can read...
- Edmund Tyrone: They say he was a souse, too.
- James Tyrone: They lie. I don't doubt he liked his glass - it's a good man's failing - but he knew how to drink that it didn't poison his mind with morbidness and filth. Don't compare him with the pack you've got here. Your dirty Zola. And your...
- James Tyrone: [Picking up one of Edmund's books and dismissively flipping through the pages] ... Dante Gabriel Rossetti, who was a dope fiend, a... hmm.
- Edmund Tyrone: [Bemused at his father's sudden discomfort] Perhaps it would be wise to change the subject.
- Mary Tyrone: [she is alone in the house talking to herself] So lonely here.
- [laughs]
- Mary Tyrone: You're lying to yourself again. You wanted to get rid of them. Their contempt and disgust aren't pleasant company. You're glad they've gone.
- [collapses on the stairs]
- Mary Tyrone: Then mother of God
- [voice shaking]
- Mary Tyrone: ... why do I feel so lonely ?
- [scene ends]