There is no torturer like one’s own body.
Occasionally a nightmare can act like a bulldozer clearing away vast quantities of
With the passage of time, the guilt of the survivor just over having had the good fortune to go on living may grow rather than diminish. The richness of his own life and experience may produce in him a heightened sense of the forfeit that his unfortunate companion made in losing life in such an untimely fashion.
We can not be found until we are lost. The experience of being lost separates one way of being from another, much the way oceans separate continents. A person who has not had the experience of being lost has not explored much of life.
Facts engage our attention when they serve to flesh out an inner fiction that already holds us in its thrall. So the invention of a new inner fiction is the invention of a new domain of inquiry.