There are some things about myself I can’t explain to anyone. There are some things I don’t understand at all. I can’t tell what I think about things or what I’m after. I don’t know what my stregths are or what I’m supposed to do about them. But if I start thinking about these things in too much detail, the whole thing gets scary. And if I get scared, I can only think about myself. I become really self-centered, and without meaning to, I hurt people. So I’m not such a wonderful human being.

For the sake of argument, let’s say all your choices and all your effort are destined to be a waste. You’re still very much yourself and nobody else. And you’re forging ahead, as yourself. So relax.

The book didn’t come to any conclusion, and nobody wants to read a book that doesn’t have one. For me, though, having no conclusion seemed just fine.

Up till a minute ago it felt so real, but now it seems imaginary. Just a few steps is all it takes for everything associated with it to lose all sense of reality. And me–the person who was there until a moment ago–now I seem imaginary too.

However, like a piece of tracing paper slipping away, everything had, little by little, become irreparably different than it had been in the past.

1 2 3 75