When film is not a document, it is dream. That is why Tarkovsky is the greatest of them all. He moves with such naturalness in the room of dreams. He… - Ingmar Bergman

"I stupidly suggested that we do A Dream Play. There were forty-two parts... It was hell. I thought: 'How can I explain to these forty-two people what Strindberg means by "Poor souls, I feel sorry for us."' It doesn't exist in German."

El amor es una palabra bonita que a cambio de una sombra de felicidad te proporciona toda suerte de engaños, falsedades y disgustos.

Don’t you think I understand? The hopeless dream of being. Not seeming, but being. Conscious at every moment. Vigilant. At the same time, the chasm between what you are to others and to yourself. The feeling of vertigo and the constant desire to at last be exposed — to be seen through, cut down, perhaps even annihilated. Every tone of voice is a lie, every gesture a falsehood, every smile a grimace. Commit suicide? Oh, no. That’s ugly. You don’t do that. But you can be immobile. You can fall silent. Then, at least, you don’t lie. You can close yourself in, shut yourself off. Then you don’t have to play roles, show any faces, or make false gestures. You think…but you see, reality is bloody-minded. Your hideout isn’t watertight. Life seeps in everything. You’re forced to react. No one asks if it’s real or unreal, if you’re true or false. It’s only in the theater the question carries weight — hardly even, there. I understand you, Elisabet. I understand your keeping silent, your immobility. That you’ve placed this lack of will into a fantastic system... I understand and I admire you. I think you should maintain this role until it’s played out, until it’s not longer interesting. Then you can leave it, just as you bit-by-bit leave all your roles.