Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine: I gave you my youth, I gave you your children.
King Henry II: I don’t like my children! And as for your youth, that withered flower, pressed between the pages of a hymnbook since you were twelve years old, with its watery blood and stale insipid scent, you can bid farewell to that without a tear. Your body was an empty desert, madame, which duty forced me to wander in alone.