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We live, as we dream—alone....”
don’t like work—no man does—but I like what is in the work—the chance to find yourself.
Your own reality—for yourself, not for others—what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means.
Ah! but it was something to have at least a choice of nightmares.
it was written I should be loyal to the nightmare of my choice.
a soul that knew no restraint, no faith, and no fear, yet struggling blindly with itself.
he cried out twice, a cry that was no more than a breath: “‘The horror! The horror!’
I have wrestled with death. It is the most unexciting contest you can imagine.
He had faith—don’t you see?—he had the faith. He could get himself to believe anything—anything.
