CONFESSOR. I can't answer that.
STRANGER. Because the answer would accord with my thoughts on that theme.
CONFESSOR. It wouldn't be a disaster if we were to agree for once.
STRANGER. Not at all!
CONFESSOR. Now drink up your wine.
STRANGER. No. I only want to look at it for the last time. It's beautiful....
CONFESSOR. Don't lose yourself in meditation; memories lie at the bottom of the cup.
STRANGER. And oblivion, and songs, and power—imaginary power, but for that reason all the greater.
CONFESSOR. Wait here a moment; I'll go and order the ferry.
STRANGER. 'Sh! I can hear singing, and I can see.... I can see.... For a moment I saw a flag unfurling in a puff of wind, only to fall back on the flagstaff and hang there limply as if it were nothing but a dishcloth. I've witnessed my whole life flashing past in a second, with its joys and sorrows, its beauty and its misery! But now I can see nothing.