Elizabeth: There's the graveyard, where my mother's buried.
Booker: It's locked.
Elizabeth: Really? That little old lock? There.
Booker: Where are you going?
Elizabeth: Come on.
Booker: What are we looking for?
Elizabeth: There it is. There. Here's some cash.
Booker: Go ahead.
Booker: It's your mother's grave.
Elizabeth: They have her preserved in an airtight chamber. Her fingerprints will get us into Comstock House.
Booker: She's your mother.
Elizabeth: A mother who abandons their child doesn't draw a lot of sympathy in my book.
Booker: Take a moment to think about what you're doing.
Elizabeth: There. Will you open the door or do I have to go in without you?
Elizabeth: It's her. How are you, mother? All locked up in there, huh? Looks like you and I have some common ground.
Booker: Let me do it.
Booker: Let me do it.
Comstock: You see, child? You chose to follow a false shepherd, and he has led you astray. What I do, I do for love. What lion does not cringe to see their cub in pain?
Elizabeth: Make it stop! Booker, make it stop!
Comstock: But spare the rise, spoil the child. If you won't listen to me, perhaps you will listen to your mother!
Booker: Elizabeth. Are you all right?
Elizabeth: Where did she go?
Booker: Just hold on, you need to rest for a minute.
Elizabeth: No. I'm getting that hand.
Booker: Elizabeth? Why is your mother a ghost?
Elizabeth: She's not. He used me to power the device. He opened up some kind of tear.
Siren: Child! Child! You are the lie that spewed from my womb. You are the lie, the lie, the lie.
Elizabeth: What's happening?
Booker: It would seem your mother is raising the dead. Open it.
Elizabeth: You bet. I need more time. Salts. Catch! That's all I have. Booker, rockets!
Booker: What is she?
Elizabeth: I don't know. What am I? My god. Is she the source of my power?
Booker: But what is she? Alive or dead?
Robert Lutece: Why do you ask "what?"
Rosalind Lutece: When the delicious question is "when?"
Robert Lutece: The only difference between past and present...
Rosalind Lutece: Is semantics.
Robert Lutece: Lives. Lived. Will live.
Rosalind Lutece: Dies. Died. Will die.
Robert Lutece: If we could perceive time as it truly was...
Rosalind Lutece: What reason would grammar professors have to get out of bed?
Robert Lutece: Like us all Lady Comstock exists across time.
Rosalind Lutece: She is both alive and dead.
Robert Lutece: She perceives being both.
Rosalind Lutece: She finds this condition disagreeable.
Robert Lutece: Perception without comprehension...
Rosalind Lutece: Is a dangerous combination.
Elizabeth: Look! Footsteps.
Rosalind Lutece: She goes to unfinished business.
Booker: We have to follow her, convince her to open the gate to Comstock House.
Robert Lutece: It's a shame you have need of her to enter Comstock House.
Rosalind Lutece: Frankly, she doesn't seem all that cooperative.
Robert Lutece: There is a way to bring her to reason.
Rosalind Lutece: Three truths you must discover first.
Robert Lutece: Truths which, in this world, Comstock has destroyed.
Rosalind Lutece: If only one of you had the power to alter time and space.
Robert Lutece: That would be a blessing, wouldn't it?
Booker: Well, they're sarcastic.
Elizabeth: There's something off about Lady Comstock.
Booker: Yeah, I noticed.
Elizabeth: No, you don't understand. She doesn't belong here. I brought something through. I'm not so sure it was her. I know that place. That's Albert Fink's house. I love his music. I wonder if he's in there. You hold on to this.
Jeremiah Fink: Hey, dear brother. These holes in the thin air continue to pay dividends. I know not which musicion you borrow your notes from but if he has half the genius of the biologist I now observe, well, and you are to be the Mozart of Columbia.
Soldier 1: Come out where I can see you.
Soldier 2: There he is!
Elizabeth: Catch, Booker!
Booker: That will do.
Elizabeth: Catch, Brooker!
Booker: That'll do.
Elizabeth: I'll try to keep you slocked. What is that? Lockpicks. We can always use more of them. Need money? Catch.
Booker: Could you take a look at this lock?
Elizabeth: Ah, child's play. Done.
Booker: It's a tear.
Elizabeth: There's something in there. Should I open it?
Lady Comstock: You whore!
Elizabeth: That's my mother.
Rosalind Lutece: I assure you, madame, my sexual interest in your dear Prophet is non-existent.
Elizabeth: And Madame Lutece.
Rosalind Lutece: Furthermore, the man is quite sterile.
Lady Comstock: That's a lie. Come and get your little bastard. I want her out of my house.
Elizabeth: They weren't my parents.
Booker: What? Then what were you to them?
Elizabeth: A child that they decided to imprison. She deserved whatever Comstock did to her.
Booker: What did you mean before when you said Lady Comstock didn't belong here?
Elizabeth: She's almost fera. It's like she's a reflection of... I don't know.
Rosalind Lutece: Comstock seems to have been made sterile by simple exposure to a contraption. A theory. Just asexual reproduction can de-emphasize the traits of each parent. So goes the effect of multiple realities on our own. Your trait dissipate until they become unrecognizable or seized to exist.
Booker: I feel better already.
Rosalind Lutece: Comstock has sabotaged our contraption. Yet we are not dead. A theory. We are scattered amongst the possibility space but my brother and I together, and so I'm content he is not. The business with the girl lies unresolved but perhaps there is one who can finish it in our stead.
Woman: Stop trying to ruin me!
Elizabeth: I see a lockpick over there. I found some money. Want it? Fireman, Booker.
Booker: It's locked.
Elizabeth: Sure thing. There you go.
Booker: Got a lock here.
Elizabeth: I'll see what I can do. Ready.