Fantasy is toxic: the private cruelty and the world war both have their start in the heated brain.
Everything is very quiet, the streets are never crowded, and the people one dislikes are out of town.
Almost everybody wore a curious limpidity of expression, like newborn babies or souls just after death. Dazed but curiously dignified.... after a criseof hysterical revulsion and tiredness, I passed beyondand became entered by a rather sublime feeling.
All my life I have said, "Whatever happens there will always be tables and chairs"--and what a mistake.
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