What you alter in the remembering has yet a reality, known or not.

The cooler days have brought a wistful mood upon him. The smell of coalsmoke in the air at night. Old times, dead years. For him such memories are bitter ones.

Life is brief and to have to spend every day of it doing what somebody else wants you to do is not the way to live it.

Whatever in creation exists without my knowledge exists without my consent.

So everything is necessary. Every least thing. This is the hard lesson. Nothing can be dispensed with. Nothing despised. Because the seams are hid from us, you see. The joinery. The way in which the world is made. We have no way to know what could be taken away. What omitted. We have no way to tell what might stand and what might fall.

What he could bear in the waking world he could not by night and he sat awake for fear the dream would return.

Word gets around when the circus comes to town, don't it?