His imagination was always more real than the reality of daily life.
Life is brutal that way ... the loss of irrecoverable moments amid trivia and distraction.
No book or poem is ever finished, merely abandoned.
The love of violence is an aspect of our humanity. Even the weak wish to be strong primarily so they can wield the whip.
The whole planet reeks of mysticism without revelation.
Books ... were merely nodes in a near-infinite matrix of information that exists in four dimensions, evolving toward the idea of the concept of the approximation of the shadow of Truth vertically through time as well as longitudinally through knowledge.