How I wish I could choose between Heaven and Hell / How I wish I would save my soul./ I'm so cold from fear.
If we ever crossed paths, what would be enough for our hearts to melt past all the pain and sorrow?
The mere antecipation when realizing it was you? The first time out eyes would meet again? Being close enough to feel your perfume? The slightest touch? Or a full embrace?
In my dreams I wonder not.
How do these geese know when to fly to the sun? Who tells them the seasons? How do we, humans, know when it is time to move on?
No man can live this life and emerge unchanged. He will carry, however faint, the imprint of the desert, the brand which marks the nomad; and he will have within him the yearning to return, weak or insistent according to his nature. For this cruel land can cast a spell which no temperate clime can match.
Olivia Wenscombe : You married her. You had a child with her.
Alfred Borden : Yes. Part of me did. But the other part... the other part didn't. The part that found you, the part that's sitting here right now.
Olivia Wenscombe : You could be in some other cafe saying the same thing about me right now. It's inhuman to be so cold.
The silhouette of your neck.
It must still be perfect, it's not just my imagination.
Toda a gente passou horas
Em que andou desencontrado
Como à espera do comboio
Na paragem do autocarro
Do not fade.
In between the grainy resolution, I can see your eyes. At times sadly smiling, at times sadly crying.
And I regret.
All the moments where I could be sure you were happily smiling, and crying of joy.
And I didn't.
Take that other picture of you with me, of me with you, of us together.
There is one.
And you were smiling. Entirely. Openly. Joyfully. And so was I.
