I Want Knowledge. Not Belief. Not Surmise.

I Want To Be One Of The Artists In The Cathedral On The Great Plain. I Want To Make A Dragon's Head, An Angel, A Devil - Or Perhaps A Saint - Out Of Stone.

I Want To Confess As Best I Can, But My Heart Is Void. The Void Is A Mirror. I See My Face And Feel Loathing And Horror. My Indifference To Men Has Shut Me Out. I Live Now In A World Of Ghosts, A Prisoner In My Dreams.

For Me, In Those Days, The Great Question Was: Does God Exist? Or Doesn't God Exist? Can We, By An Attitude Of Faith, Attain To A Sense Of Community And A Better World? Or, If God Doesn't Exist, What Do We Do Then? What Does Our World Look Like Then? In None Of This Was There The Least Political Colour.

Film As Dream, Film As Music. No Form Of Art Goes Beyond Ordinary Consciousness As Film Does, Straight To Our Emotions, Deep Into The Twilight Room Of The Soul. A Little Twitch In Our Optic Nerve, A Shock Effect: Twenty-four Illuminated Frames A Second, Darkness In Between, The Optic Nerve Incapable Of Registering Darkness.

I Think I'm Swedish Because I Like To Live Here On This Island. You Can't Imagine The Loneliness And Isolation In This Country. In That Way, I'm Very Swedish - I Don't Dislike To Be Alone.