- Demode Respighi: [writing a letter] My Beloved One, The racket of the muskets and bombs is such that I can no longer hear the sound of your voice, even in my dreams. Where are you?
- Ester Menegatti: Our love is among these ruins. Maybe at the end of the war, you will be glorified in stone. But I am not waiting for any ceremony, your grave is already here. It is in the grass and in the clouds.