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I’ve got to sleep now. Okay?’ ‘Sure. Knock yourself out.’ ‘I don’t understand you.’ ‘Do what you want.’ ‘Ah.’ The gunslinger nodded and lay back. Knock myself out, he thought. Knock. Myself out.
‘Don’t roll over in your sleep,’ he said, ‘or you may wake up in hell.’
The face was that of a starving idiot.
The universe was void. Nothing moved. Nothing was.
What hurt you once will hurt you twice. This is not the beginning but the beginning’s end.
The universe (he said) is the Great All, and offers a paradox too great for the finite mind to grasp. As the living brain cannot conceive of a nonliving brain – although it may think it can – the finite mind cannot grasp the infinite.
Few if any seemed to have grasped the truest principle of reality: new knowledge leads always to yet more awesome mysteries. Greater physiological knowledge of the brain makes the existence of the soul less possible yet more probable by the nature of the search.
Everything in the universe denies nothing; to suggest an ending is the one absurdity.
‘Do you see your sister’s bum?’ ‘I’m staring at you, of course.’
‘You seek the light so soon.’ ‘I was made for light.’
Only equals speak the truth, that’s my thought on’t. Friends and lovers lie endlessly, caught in the web of regard. How tiresome!’
The dark came down and the world moved on.
