No one is without a grain of insanity. On nights like this there’s something about to burst inside me, something sobbing and wailing like the doves on the summerhouse, and I have to walk it up and down as though it were a baby, to try and quiet it. I have to defy the moon; I have to walk directly under its glare and prove that I’m stronger and more powerful, because I’m still alive and it’s nothing but a poor, dead, burned-out thing, all passion spent.”
