The only thing that a man takes with him when he dies is that small part of his property that nobody else cares about. A few sensations or moments, two or three notes of waves, when the wind takes the wool with its sweet whispers in the dark - a few breaths from two close breaths - a song with a heavy heart, like a black rock - and the tear, the tear of one time, the one forever. All that, in other words, make his true photograph, the one doomed to be lost and never to be repeated.

Odysseus Elytis