"When my eyes are closed forever, they won’t see the divinely, magnificently real landscape appear anymore. After my heart has stopped beating, my throat contracting, my lungs filled with air, after my blood has stopped pumping through my body and has started thickening, drying inside my arteries and veins, after my skin has stopped feeling hard, and soft, and cold, and warm, but has become thin and crackly like a cigarette paper to let the dead entrails slip through; after my bones have come apart and smashed into powder like a stone; after water, fire, the grains of sand, the oxides, the roots of trees, have worn everything out, gnawed everything, smashed everything under their weight. After the generations of other men, the wars, the civilizations, have thus been and gone on earth, breathed the same air as me, drinking the same water, and fed with parts of my body, will there still be anything tenuous, thrilling, tiny left, not even a pain or a joy, but a ghost, a confused and distant memory that will give me a soul?
And after these very generations have passed, after the last men have disappeared, after the earth and sun have been swallowed, have blended with the void, like me, will there be anything left of me in the smallest part of an atom? Will there even be a speck of dust floating in absolute space that will bear the sign that I have lived? And that I have thought about these eternal things?”
The Days When I Do Not Exist (Jean-Charles Fitoussi, 2002)
(h/t Matthew Flanagan)
Keep Your Right Up/Nouvelle Vague
A Hen in the Wind (Yasujiro Ozu, 1948)