- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: When did it happen?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: What do you mean?
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: I want details. She mentioned a decision you all made. Tell me where and when. Was it here?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: Easter vacation, 1991. At the community centre. You were next door.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: I remember. Is Ivan aware of this?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: It's history.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: Was Ivan with you? Or did you and Henri decide our fate behind his back?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: Ivan was there.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: What did you say?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: Henri and I were talking about you. Guy talk. Ivan was quiet, smiling. Then he said, "If I don't get her, I'll never get over it."
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: What did you reply?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: I can't remember. "She's right for you."
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: Exactly! The exact words!
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: "Take her, she's yours."
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: I'm not to be given, like a camel or a goat.
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: I didn't give you. I was 27. An idiot. I was hollow. Still am.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: Did you love me?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: Yes.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: Do you love me?
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: Yes.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: Scumbag! You're part of the game! By choosing for me, you played.
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: I was right. Ivan loved you infinitely.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: It's your love that was infinite. You played my hand and you cheated. Now I'll never know my life. It's not mine. I wasn't free to prefer Ivan.
- Simon - Junon's nephew - the painter cousin: Henri was there, too.
- Sylvia - Ivan's wife: It's not the same. You really love me. Henri wanted sex, and got it. For 10 years, you've had no life. You're pathetic in your studio. You don't talk. You're sad. You spend Sundays doing the dishes, stealing glances, avoiding my kids. You're a failure, clinging to the Vuillards. You never got over me.