Свет маяка — словно вздох ребёнка, который почти что бог — до нас едва долетает. ... Какие просторы!.. И мнится мне, что зажжен маяк не для морей зловещих, а для вечности вещей.
Please, please forgive me, But I won't be home again. Maybe someday you'll look up, And, barely conscious, you'll say to no one: Isn't something missing? You won't cry for my absence, I know - You forgot me long ago. Am I that unimportant...? Am I so insignificant...? Isn't something missing? Isn't someone missing me?