The greatest honor that can be given to all those who have died yet whose spirit still surround us to date, the unknowns and the others, is to stand humbly before them and say that their timid voice, denouncing in its silence, can be heard from one end of the land to the other. That we shall try our best to build over the roots that they had planted with their own bodies in the hard ground, a beautiful tree, an attractive house, the most delightful society possible. Their voices cast a spell over us that we ask their forgiveness for the fact that they are there and we are here, and to attempt to remember them, their faces, their bodies, the last pains, the betrayal of life, the mystery of the honor or of the shell or of the mine, the total heavens and the beautifully woven words that are sometimes mentioned in their names, in vain.