It was Hell, if hell is where the life we love cannot exist.
Chronology is one method only and not the best.
Every man assumes that what is valuable to himself must be coveted by others.
sent me cowering inside a shed of excuses.
I suppose it was surrender. Who is strong enough to escape their fate? Who can avoid what they must become?
No man believes what he does not feel to be true.
Men are unfaithful by nature. This is not the fault in men, for nature should not be accused of fault workmanship. It is as useless to rail against man’s infidelity as it is to complain that water is wet. What god or man is content with what he has? And if he were content, then is less than god or man.
No hero can be destroyed by the world. His reward is to destroy himself. Not what you meet on the way, but what you are, will destroy you.
He didn’t want to think. Thinking was like a hornet. It was outside his head buzzing at him.
He was not used to feeling. He saved himself in his lonely hours by thinking. He invented mathematical puzzles and solved them. He plotted the course of the stars. He tried to understand the ways of gods and men, and was mentally constructing a giant history of the world. His thoughts kept him from dying. His thoughts kept him from feeling. What was there to feel anyway—but pain and weight?
A powerful man doesn’t notice much. He doesn’t need to. Other people notice things for him.
hating death, wanting life, crowded in a limbo of eternity, longing for time.
His punishment was a clever on—it engaged his vanity.
He could accept any challenge except the challenge of no challenge. He knew himself only through combat. He defined himself in opposition.
Rejection teaches you how to reject.