— A minha história? — exclamei, assustado. — A minha história? Mas quem lhe disse que eu tinha uma história? Eu não tenho história... (trecho de "Noites Brancas" de Dostoievski)
I was... uh... I was having a drink with my old teacher, he is a hundred and two now, and... this was... he was just about ninety seven at the time, and... I pored my drink and... he clicked my glass and he said: "excuse me for not dying"... (risos) I kind of feel the same way... (risos). I want to thank you, not just for this evening, but for the many years that you've kept my songs alive. (Leonard Cohen, Live in London)
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