Amory sorry for them was still not sorry for himself - art politics religion whatever his medium should be he knew he was safe now free from all hysteria - he could accept what was acceptable roam grow rebel sleep deep through many nights...There was no God in his heart he knew his ideas were still in riot there was ever the pain of memory the regret for his lost youth - yet the waters of disillusion had left a deposit on his soul responsibility and a love of life the faint stirring of old ambitions and unrealized dreams...And he could not tell why the struggle was worth while why he had determined to use to the utmost himself and his heritage from the personalities he had passed...He stretched out his arms to the crystalline radiant sky.I know myself he cried but that is all.

Then I perceived what I had never thought that all these staring houses were not alike but different one from another because they held different dreams.

I had a dream about you. We were both in the finals at the World Cuddling Championships and my partner was my cat Capn The Sweetness Kintz and yours was a Teddy Bear named Teddy. While Teddys body could be manipulated in ways that would earn you style points with the judges he was lacking the personality of a person which The Sweetness certainly has. In the end we won partly because we were better cuddlers but mostly because I bribed the judges.

Dreamland I couldnt stay away because I couldnt stay awake. I traveled there in my sleep at 65 miles per hour while I was driving.

What is this slow blue dream of living and this fevered death by dreaming

If we write our dreams and goals down we dramatically increase our odds of realization. If we share them with others they become potent and alive.

. . . and I dont expect him to suborn his life into mine any more than I would change my dreams for him. Were not one soul one being however much we love each other.

And eventually in that house where everyone even the fugitive hiding in the cellar from his faceless enemies finds his tongue cleaving dryly to the roof of his mouth where even the sons of the house have to go into the cornfield with the rickshaw boy to joke about whores and compare the length of their members and whisper furtively about dreams of being film directors Hanifs dream which horrifies his dream-invading mother who believes the cinema to be an extension of the brothel business where life has been transmuted into grotesquery by the irruption into it of history eventually in the murkiness of the underworld he cannot help himself he finds his eyes straying upwards up along delicate sandals and baggy pajamas and past loose kurta and above the dupatta the cloth of modesty until eyes meet eyes and then

Hed stopped trying to bring her back. She only came back when she felt like it anyway in dreams and lies and broken-down dj vu.

For most of us the prayer in Gethsemane is the only model. Removing mountains can wait.