This is not how I imagined I would die. Looking at my son and seeing a stranger. You have...

Norman Osborn: This is not how I imagined I would die. Looking at my son and seeing a stranger. You have such potential, Harry. Such fierce intelligence, and you're throwing it all away. Harry Osborn: No, you threw me away. You kicked me off to boarding school when I was 11. On my 16th birthday, you sent me Scotch. Or one of your assistants did. I'm pretty sure because the card read: "With compliments, Norman Osborn." Norman Osborn: I don't expect forgiveness from you anymore. I don't believe in miracles. How could you possibly understand that your childhood had to be sacrificed for something greater? And not just for me. For you! Has your hand started to twitch yet? When you lay awake and you feel it coming, hiding under your skin, waiting to show itself. To show you who you really are. Retro viral hyperplasia. I never told you that it's genetic. Our disease, the Osborn curse. And it began at your age. Let me see it. Your hand. Give it to me. The greatest inheritance I can give you isn't merely money. It's this. The sum total of all my work. Everything I did to stay alive. Maybe you can succeed where I failed.