Kad umrem, prekinuce se jedna srebrna nit sa nanizanim glatkim biserima koji ce se rasuti po zemlji i otkotrljati kuci svojim majkama skoljkama na dnu mora.Ko ce zaroniti za mojim biserima kad mene ne bude vise? Ko ce znati da su bili moji? Ko ce znati da je ceo svet nekad visio oko mog vrata.

Life is both sad and solemn. We are led into a wonderful world, we meet one another here, greet each other - and wander together for a brief moment. Then we lose each other and disappear as suddenly and unreasonably as we arrived.

The truth is that I feel totally helpless, or totally inconsolable, to be more honest. I’m not trying to hide it, but it’s something you’re not to worry about.

When we die, as when the scenes have been fixed on to celluloid and the scenery is pulled down and burnt — we are phantoms in the memories of our descendants. Then we are ghosts, my dear, then we are myths. But still we are together. We are the past together, we are a distant past. Beneath the dome of the mysterious stars, I still hear your voice.

Zamisli, George, kad bi postojala neka ruka za koju možeš da se uhvatiš i kad pređeš s one strane! Ali ne verujem da postoji ona strana. U to sam skoro potpuno ubeđen. Sve što postoji, traje samo do svoga kraja. Ali neka ruka je obično poslednje što čovek drži.