I throw a spear into the darkness. That is intuition. Then I must send an army into the darkness to find the spear. That is intellect. - Ingmar Bergman

Alexander: Ingen jävel har en tanke i huvet.
Oscar: Du måste vare rädd om mänskor, Alexander.
Alexander: Idiotar. Nästan allihop.
Oscar: Så småningom kommer du att förstå -
Alexander: Jag tror inte på det där snacket. “Så småningom kommer du att förstå.” Vilket förbannat så småningom? Jag ser klart. Mänskor är löjliga och jag tyckar illa om dem.

We make each other alive; it doesn't make a difference if it hurts.

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.