(Fritz Lang, 1931)
It's there all the time, driving me out to wander the streets, following
me, silently, but I can feel it there. It's me, pursuing myself! I want
to escape, to escape from myself! But it's impossible. I can't escape, I
have to obey it. I have to run, run... endless streets. I want to
escape, to get away! And I'm pursued by ghosts. Ghosts of mothers and of
those children... they never leave me. They are always there... always,
always, always!, except when I do it, when I... Then I can't remember
anything. And afterwards I see those posters and read what I've done,
and read, and read... did I do that? But I can't remember anything about
it! But who will believe me? Who knows what it's like to be me? How I'm
forced to act... how I must, must... don't want to, must! Don't want
to, but must! And then a voice screams! I can't bear to hear it! I can't
go on! I can't... I can't...