Nie jestem tchórzem. Tchórzem jest ten kto się boi i ucieka a ja się boję, ale nie uciekam.

“For no reason, but the sunrise, the bay of Naples, the sea—you look at them and…”

“the black serpant of wounded vanity gnawed at his heart?”

“Unë mendoj kështu: kur qesh një njeri, nuk shihet dot me sy! Se të qeshurit ia …”

“...it all, maybe, most likely, indeed, might turn out for the best.”