In A World Of Monotonous Horror There

If Men Only Felt About Death As They Do About Sleep, All Terrors Would Cease. . . Men Sleep Contentedly, Assured That They Will Wake The Following Morning. They Should Feel The Same About Their Lives.

(after Death.) So Few People Who Come Across, Possess Awareness Of Any Kind. All They Bring Along With Them Are Worthless Values. All They Desire Is Continuation Of What They Had In Life No Matter How Misguided Or Degraded. . . Will Those People Ever Progress, Even With Our Help?

When I'm Writing, Especially When I'm Writing In First Person, I Don't Think About The Characterization, Or How They Are Going To Express Themselves, I Just Express My Own Approach To These Things. I Think Most Writers Can Never Divorce Themselves From Their Private Lives And Personas; They Are The Ones That Are Writing. And The More They Remove Themselves From Their Own Persona, The More, Perhaps, Mechanical The Work Becomes.

Now When I Die, I Shall Only Be Dead.

Memory Was Such A Worthless Thing, Really. Nothing It Dealt With Was Attainable. It Was Concerned With Phantom Acts And Feelings, With All That Was Uncapturable Except In Thought. It Was Without Satisfaction.