The man smiled at him a sly smile. As if they knew a secret between them, these two. Something of age and youth and their claims and the justice of those claims. And of their claims upon them. The world past, the world to come. Their common transciencies. Above all a knowing deep in the bone that beauty and loss are one.

If a man's at odds to know his own mind it's because he hasn't got aught but his mind to know it with.

In dreams we stand in this great democracy of the possible and there we are right pilgrims indeed. There we go forth to meet what we shall meet.

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

You forget what you want to remember, and you remember what you want to forget.

Query: How does the never to be differ from what never was?

A dream inside a dream might not be a dream.