It was useless. The brain had its own food on which it battened, and the imagination, made grotesque by terror, twisted and distorted as a living thing by pain, danced like some foul puppet on a stand and grinned through moving masks.
And when you are away, Gerald...with...her - oh, think of me sometimes. Don't forget me.
The great things of life are what they seem to be, and for that reason, strange as it may sound to you, are often difficult to interpret. But the little things of life are symbols. We receive our bitter lessons most easily through them.
Suddenly I found myself face to face with the young man whose personality had so strangely stirred me.
I remember having read somewhere, in some strange book, that when the gods wish to punish us they answer our prayers.