I saw my earlier selves as different people, acquaintances I had outgrown. I wondered how I could ever have been some of them.

Time passed slowly, like and old man climbing a hill.

I have decided, it is fruitless. For I am no longer sure of anything concerning my existance. A philosopher is a dead poet and a dying theologian.

Of all the things a man may do, sleep probably contributes most to keeping him sane. It puts brackets about each day. If you do something foolish or painful today, you get irritated if somebody mentions it, today. If it happened yesterday, though, you can nod or chuckle, as the case may be. You've crossed through nothingness or dream to another island in Time.

Good-bye and hello, as always.

I tried a very fancy attack I'd learned in France, which involved a beat, a feint in quarte, a feint in sixte, and a lunge veering off into an attack on his wrist. I nicked him, and the blood flowed.

I would never rest until I held vengeance and the throne within my hand, and good night sweet prince to anybody who stood between me and these things.