My son, Some water... I'm burning, My Stomach..... Eliezar... some water.....
From the depths of the mirror, a corpse gazed back at me. The look in his eye as they stared into mine, has never left me.
Look at the fire! Look at the flames! Flames everywhere
he looked in vain among the dying. Then he had scratched up the snow to find his corpse. without result
They take me for a madman, he would whisper, and tears, like drops of wax, flowed from his eyes
how could i forget that concert, given to an audience of dying and dead men! to this day, whenever I hear Beethoven played my eyes closed and out of the dark rises of the sad, pale face of my polish friend, as he said farewell on his violin to an audience of dying men.