And so they are ever returning to us, the dead.

Otherwise, all I remember of the denizens of the Nocturama is that several of them had strikingly large eyes, and the fixed inquiring gaze found in certain painters and philosophers who seek to penetrate the darkness which surrounds us purely by means of looking and thinking.

How I wished during those sleepless hours that I belonged to a different nation, or better still, to none at all.

And so they are ever returning to us, the dead.

We learn from history as much as a rabbit learns from an experiment that's performed upon it.

No one can explain exactly what happens within us when the doors behind which our childhood terrors lurk are flung open.

It is thanks to my evening reading alone that I am still more or less sane.