I Must Go Home Periodically To Renew

The People Dreamed And Fought And Slept As Much As Ever. And By Habit They Shortened Their Thoughts So That They Would Not Wander Out Into The Darkness Beyond Tomorrow.

Day And Night She Had Drudged And Struggled And Thrown Her Soul Into Her Work, And There Was Not Much Of Her Left Over For Anything Else. Being Human, She Suffered From This Lack And Did What She Could To Make Up For It. If She Passed The Evening Bent Over A Table In The Library And Later Declared That She Had Spent That Time Playing Cards, It Was As Though She Had Managed To Do Both Those Things. Through The Lies, She Lived Vicariously. The Lies Doubled The Little Of Her Existence That Was Left Over From Work And Augmented The Little Rag End Of Her Personal Life.

I Think We Look For The Differences In People Because It Makes Us Less Lonely.

I Must Go Home Periodically To Renew My Sense Of Horror.

A Writer Soon Discovers He Has No Single Identity But Lives The Lives Of All The People He Creates And His Weathers Are Independent Of The Actual Day Around Him. I Live With The People I Create And It Has Always Made My Essential Loneliness Less Keen.