Only Against Death Does Man Cry Out

I Like Prefaces. I Read Them. Sometimes I Do Not Read Any Further.

To Say Nothing Of What You Lose, Lose, Lose, Are Losing, Man. You Fool, You Stupid Fool ... You've Even Been Insulated From The Responsibility Of Genuine Suffering ... Even The Suffering You Do Endure Is Largely Unnecessary. Actually Spurious. It Lacks The Very Basis You Require Of It For Its Tragic Nature. You Deceive Yourself.

Perhaps His Tragedy Is That He Is The One Normal Writer Left On Earth And It Is This That Adds To His Isolation And So To His Sense Of Guilt.

No, My Secrets Are Of The Grave And Must Be Kept. And This Is How I Sometimes Think Of Myself, As A Great Explorer Who Has Discovered Some Extraordinary Land From Which He Can Never Return To Give His Knowledge To The World: But The Name Of This Land Is Hell.

For A Time They Confronted Each Other Like Two Mute Unspeaking Forts.