"Whispering shadows, you say, but do they whisper, or merely mock our silence?"
"In a world spun by dreams, did the architect ever wake?"
"The stars, my dear, are but holes in the veil, and we are the moths that dance too close."
The clock on the wall, though motionless, reminded him of eternity's indifferent tick. "Have we more time, or is this all a mirage?" she pondered aloud.
A voice like rustling leaves: "To dream is to err, to err is to find solace in the truth of our illusions."
A murmur from the abyss: "Does the river remember where it began, or does it only know the sea?"
Soft laughter: "We are but echoes of a forgotten symphony, waiting for the conductor to return."
A rhythmic chant: "Unity in fragments, harmony in chaos; this is the nocturne's melody."