— There's the end of it, we don't know where they went from here. Tells us nothing after all.
— You're right, Anderson, nothing. Except his shoe size, hes height, his gait, his walking pace.
Fleeting glories are the highest expression of mortal beauty, for are we mortals not like the flashing lightning itself? Like a lovely dream or blossoming spark, we shall leave a gorgeous mark on the eternal nightsky.