Dead, we are revealed in our true dimensions, and they are surprisingly modest.
Man, he said, I’m not afraid of graveyards. The dead are just, you know, people who wanted the same things you and I want.What do we want? I asked blurrily.Aw, man, you know, he said. We just want, well, the same things these people wanted.What was that?He shrugged. To live, I guess, he said.
It’s the solitude that slays you. Maybe because you’d expected ruin to arrive in a grander and more romantic form.
One always has a better book in one’s mind than one can manage to get onto paper.