That which you believe becomes your world

When you sleep, your dream world is as real to you as life, isn’t it?

Now when I die, I shall only be dead.

No longer will you be a weird Robinson Crusoe, imprisoned on an island of night surrounded by oceans of death.

Full circle. A new terror born in death, a new superstition entering the unassailable fortress of forever. I am legend.

After a while, though, even the deepest sorrow faltered, even the most penetrating despair lost its scalpel edge.

I'm sitting in my office trying to squeeze a story from my head. It is that kind of morning when you feel like melting the typewriter into a bar of steel and clubbing yourself to death with it. (“Advance Notice”)