I do not know but perhaps the day will come when I shall be received indifferently by the public, perhaps together with a feeling of disgust in myself. Tiredness and emptiness will descend upon me like a dirty grey sack and fear will stifle everything. Emptiness will stare me in the face.
When this happens I shall put down my tools and leave the scene, of my own free will, without bitterness and without brooding whether or not the work has been useful and truthful from the viewpoint of eternity.
Wise and far-sighted men in the Middle Ages used to spend nights in their coffins in order never to forget the tremendous importance of every moment and the transient nature of life itself.
Without taking such drastic and uncomfortable measures I harden myself to the seeming futility and the fickle cruelty of film-making with the ernest conviction that each film is my last.
(Ingmar Bergman, numa brochura não datada mas cujo aspecto gráfico permite situar algures entre finais de 50 e princípios de 60)
(Sei que o morto do dia é Antonioni mas, sorry, não consigo digerir mais do que uma morte por semana)