:17:01
Oh, I don't know what I mean.
:17:04
There is the atelier,
Sebastian's studio.
:17:08
Most people's lives...
:17:10
...what are they
but trails of debris?
:17:13
Each day more debris, more debris.
:17:15
Long, long trails of debris...
:17:19
...with nothing to clean it all up
but, finally, death.
:17:23
I guess...
:17:25
...quiet desperation
is the word for most lives.
:17:30
But ours were different.
:17:32
Sebastian's and mine.
:17:35
I know it sounds
hopelessly vain to say...
:17:38
...but we were a famous couple.
:17:41
People didn't speak of Sebastian
and his mother...
:17:44
...or Mrs. Venable and her son.
:17:46
They said, "Sebastian and Violet.
:17:48
Violet and Sebastian are at the Lido.
They're at the Ritz."
:17:52
And every appearance,
every time we appeared...
:17:56
...attention was centred on us.
:17:58
Everyone else eclipsed.
:18:01
My son, Sebastian...
:18:04
...and I...
:18:06
...constructed our days.
:18:08
Each day, we would carve each day
like a piece of sculpture.
:18:13
We left behind us a trail of days...
:18:16
...like a gallery of sculpture...
:18:19
...until suddenly, last summer...
:18:24
Your son died?
:18:33
You say that your niece suffers
from dementia praecox.
:18:37
There must have been
a more exact diagnosis.
:18:40
Such a pretty name for a disease.
:18:42
Sounds like a rare flower,
doesn't it?
:18:45
Night-blooming dementia praecox.
:18:49
What form does her disturbance take?
:18:52
Madness.
:18:54
Obsession, memory.
:18:55
She lacerates herself with memory.
:18:58
Memory of what?