Mr. Perlman: We rip out so much of ourselves to be cured of things faster than we should that we go bankrupt by the age of thirty and have less to offer each time we start with someone new. But to make yourself feel nothing so as not to feel anything - what a waste!
Mr. Perlman: Have I spoken out of turn? Then I'll say one more thing. It'll clear the air. I may have come close, but I never had what you two have. Something always held me back or stood in the way. How you live your life is your business, just remember, our hearts and our bodies are given to us only once. And before you know it, your heart is worn out, and, as for your body, there comes a point when no one looks at it, much less wants to come near it. Right now, there's sorrow, pain. Don't kill it and with it the joy you've felt.
Elio: Does mom know?
Mr. Perlman: I don't think she does.
Oliver: Is there anything you don't know?
Elio: I know nothing, Oliver.
Oliver: Well, you seem to know more than anyone else around here.
Elio: Well, if you only knew how little I really know about the things that matter.
Oliver: What "things that matter?"
Elio: You know what things.
Oliver: Why are you telling me this?
Elio: Because I thought you should know.
Oliver: Because you thought I should know?
Elio: Because I wanted you to know.
Elio: [to himself] Because I wanted you to know. Because I wanted you to know. Because I wanted you to know.
Elio: [to Oliver] Because there's no one else I can say this to but you.
Oliver: Are you saying what I think you're saying?
Oliver: Wait for me here. Don't go away.
Elio: You know I'm not going anywhere.
Elio: They know about us.
Oliver: I figured.
Oliver: From the way your dad spoke to me, he made me feel like a part of the family, almost like a son-in-law. You're so lucky! My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility.
Elio: Elio. Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio, Elio...
[long pause over the phone followed by a sigh]
Oliver: Oliver. I remember everything.
Mr. Perlman: When you least expect it, nature has cunning ways of finding our weakest spot.
Mr. Perlman: You two had a nice friendship.
Mr. Perlman: You're too smart not to know how rare, how special what you two had was.
Elio: Oliver was Oliver.
Mr. Perlman: Parce-que c'etait lui, parce-que c'etait moi.
Elio: Oliver may be very intelligent but...
Mr. Perlman: Oh no, no, no. He was more than intelligent. What you two had, had everything and nothing to do with intelligence. He was good. You were both lucky to have found each other, because you too are good.
Elio: I think he was better than me. I think he was better than me.
Mr. Perlman: I'm sure he'd say the same thing about you. Which flatters you both.
Oliver: Call me by your name and I'll call you by mine.
Marzia: People who read are hiders. They hide who they are. People who hide don't always like who they are.
Mr. Perlman: You're too old not to accept people for who they are. What's wrong with them? What's wrong with them? You call them Sonny and Cher behind their backs...
Elio: That's what mom calls them. That's what mom calls them!
Mr. Perlman: ...and then accept gifts from them. The only person that reflects badly on is you. Is it because they're gay or because they're ridiculous?
Elio: I miss you.
Oliver: I miss you too, very much. I have some news.
Elio: News? Oh, you're getting married, I suppose.
Oliver: I might be getting married next spring, yeah.
Elio: You never said anything.
Oliver: Well, it's been off and on for two years.
Elio: That's wonderful news.
Oliver: Do you mind?
Art Historian 2: Cinema is a mirror of reality and it is a filter.
Annella Perlman: [Reading from The Heptaméron] A handsome young knight is madly in love with a princess, and she too is in love with him, though she seems not to be entirely aware of it. Despite the friendship that blossoms between them, or perhaps because of that very friendship, the young knight finds himself so humbled and speechless that he is totally unable to bring up the subject of his love. Until one day he asks the princess point-blank: Is it better to speak or to die?
Elio: I'll never have the courage to ask a question like that.
Mr. Perlman: I doubt that. Hey, Elly-Belly. You do know that you can always talk to us?
Elio: [to Oliver, crying] I don't want you to go.
[writing a letter to Oliver, voices overlapping]
Elio: Please don't avoid me. It kills me. I can't stand thinking you hate me. Your silence is killing me. I'd sooner die than know you hate me. I am such a pussy.
Elio: [to himself] Way over the top.
[rips the paper out and writes another note]
Elio: Can't stand the silence. I need to speak to you.
Oliver: The Cosmic Fragments by Heraclitus: The meaning of the river flowing is not that all things are changing so that we cannot encounter them twice, but that some things stay the same only by changing.
Elio: Maybe it made sense when you wrote it.
Art Historian 2: So we got to the government of Bettino Craxi...
Art Historian 1: Because we don't do anything but talk, talk, talk.
Art Historian 2: Let me talk. We have five parties that do nothing but fight.
Art Historian 1: Smoke and shut up. Let them speak, him, her.
[pointing to Sam and Annella]
Art Historian 1: I'd like to know what they think too.
Art Historian 2: Annella, what do you think? A five-party government!
Annella Perlman: Darling, I think it's an historic compromise...
Art Historian 1: Don't say that. Compromises are tragic. You've changed since you inherited this place.
Art Historian 2: What's that got to do with it?
Annella Perlman: What are you saying? You're mad, darling.
Art Historian 2: You asshole. She's right.
Art Historian 1: [to Sam] And you don't say anything to her. Say something! You're resigned.
Art Historian 2: Why don't we talk about the death of Buñuel? Buñuel was a genius.
Art Historian 2: You know him?
Art Historian 1: Cinema isn't the answer.
Art Historian 2: Cinema is a mirror of reality and it's a filter.
Art Historian 1: They broadcast The Phantom of Liberty with constant interr...
Art Historian 2: [interrupting] Everyone loves Buñuel!
Art Historian 1: [Pointing to Oliver] Let's hear his opinion.
Art Historian 2: He doesn't know anything about Italy!
Art Historian 1: [to Oliver] Say something. Give us your impression.
Art Historian 2: Do you have an impression?
Annella Perlman: Darling, he's American.
Art Historian 1: That doesn't mean he's stupid!
Oliver: [to Elio playing the guitar] Sounds nice.
Elio: I thought you didn't like it.
Oliver: [looks at Elio, looks away again] Play it again, will you?
Elio: [walks into the house] Follow me.
Oliver: [Elio plays the piano] That sounds different; did you change it?
Elio: I changed it a little bit.
Elio: I just played it the way Liszt would have played it if he'd altered Bach's version.
Oliver: Play that again.
Elio: Play what again?
Oliver: The thing you played outside.
Elio: Oh, you want me to play the thing I played outside?
Oliver: [after Elio plays] I can't believe you changed it again!
Elio: Oh, I changed it a little bit.
Oliver: Yeah. Why?
Elio: I just played it the way Busoni would have played it if he'd altered Liszt's version.
Oliver: And what is wrong with Bach the way Bach would have played Bach's version?
Elio: [interrupting] Bach never wrote it for the guitar. In fact, they're not even sure Bach even wrote it.
Oliver: Forget I asked!
Elio: [Elio plays] It's young Bach. He dedicated it to his brother.
Mr. Perlman: Right now you may not want to feel anything. Maybe you never wanted to feel anything. And maybe it's not to me you'll want to speak about these things. But feel something you obviously did.
Mr. Perlman: There are four known sets, after the Praxiteles originals. This fellow's at number three. The Emperor Hadrian had a pair, dug up at Tivoli, but one of the more philistine of the Farnese Popes melted them down and had them recast as a particularly voluptuous Venus.
Elio: I thought that he did not like me
Mr. Perlman: In my place, most parents would hope the whole thing goes away. Pray their sons land on their feet, but... I am not such a parent.
Oliver: Is there a bank in town? I'd like to start an account while I'm here.
[accidentally breaks his soft boiled egg]
Mafalda: [in Italian] Let me do it.
Oliver: [in English] Sorry.
[Mafalda cracks open another egg for Oliver]
Mr. Perlman: It happens to the best of us.
Oliver: Yeah, well...
Mr. Perlman: [chuckling] None of our residents has ever had a local bank account.
Elio: Should I take him to Montodine?
Mr. Perlman: I think they're closed for summer vacation. You try... Crema.
Mr. Perlman: Look, you had a beautiful friendship. Maybe more than a friendship. And I envy you.