36 ordspråk av Robin Gibb

Robin Gibb

Robin Gibb föddes den 22 december 1949
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I hadn't accepted he was seriously ill. The idea that someone so close to you couldn't wake up was utterly incomprehensible. Then the doctor came in... Maurice had no brain left. There wasn't any activity at all.

I left on the Saturday morning. The doctors were saying there was still a chance that they'd get him back. You hope against hope that they're right.

The real world was just too real, and we didn't want to be a part of normal life. We wanted to create a magical world for the three of us.

You know, we'd just had a birthday, he was... you know, he still had a future out of him, and all I can is he was just one of the most beautiful people in the world... a very gifted man, and it's a loss to the world, not just for us.

If some people can imagine that a person they love is alive in another world, why can't I imagine Maurice is alive in this one? An artist is a person who uses art to run away from reality. It's not wrong-it's survival. There's nothing wrong with me creating a world in which Maurice is alive.

When Maurice touched a keyboard, it was like something from a movie, magical. He would always give you something from a movie, and you'd go, what did you just play... immediately inspirational writings, amazing. That's what we're going to miss.

I refuse to believe my brother is dead.

It makes us feel better that everyone out there is thinking of Maurice.

If the heart stops for more than two minutes, you have massive brain death. There are only two minutes between our conscious world and zero. That's how fragile our consciousness is.

As the plane got closer to Miami, I had this terrible feeling he was dying. Maybe he was telling me that he was going. I felt anger, panic, despair and helplessness.

I couldn't stay there. I still find Miami very hard, because from my dock I can see the hospital. I can't stand there and look at it.

I can't accept that he's dead. I just imagine he's alive somewhere else. Pretend is the right word. Pretend is where I'm at.

We said we'd fly the flag without him and carry on. I didn't give him a kiss because I still hadn't accepted what was happening. I was hoping that some miracle was going to happen. Of course, it didn't. I wish I had kissed him now.

One morning I'd woken up about 4 a.m., feeling nauseous. The feeling lasted about an hour. It was at the time Maurice was in hospital with pains in his stomach. It was probably some indication that something was wrong, because I have never, ever had that feeling before.

I'll never get used to living without Mo, but the painful things that surround what happened to him aren't so painful any more-not so raw or so new.

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