The sun has risen every morning for a million years and more." "But not this sun, Herr Walther.

It never rose before and it's the brightest and most glorious of them all." Walther looked up at the sun.

It was in truth bright, casting a golden glow over all the mountains, but he saw nothing new about it.
"It's a fine sun, as you say," he said, "but it's the same as ever.

Ah, you're French after all--in blood, I mean, I don't question your loyalty--and you see things that are not.

Too much imagination, Castel.
Quit it.