[b]Neil Gaiman
Adults follow paths. Children explore. Adults are content to walk the same way, hundreds of times, or thousands; perhaps it never occurs to adults to step off the paths, to creep beneath rhododendrons, to find the spaces between fences.[/b]
Let’s rank the pros and the cons.
Never trust the storyteller. Only trust the story.
Right, like one has absolutely nothing to do with the other.
Recounting the strange is like telling one’s dreams: one can communicate the events of a dream, but not the emotional content, the way that a dream can colour one’s entire day.
Dreams are just fucking mindboggling. Though not nearly as much as why we dream at all.
I only have two kinds of dreams: the bad and the terrible. Bad dreams I can cope with. They’re just nightmares, and the end eventually. I wake up. The terrible dreams are the good dreams. In my terrible dreams, everything is fine. I am still with the company. I still look like me. None of the last five years ever happened. Sometimes I’m married. Once I even had kids. I even knew their names. Everything’s wonderful and normal and fine. And then I wake up, and I’m still me. And I’m still here. And that is truly terrible.
Really, what the fuck is going on here?
I don’t know. I had to be something, didn’t I?
I’ve used this a few times myself.
Some of us claim that he was a messiah, and some think that he was just a man with very special powers. But that misses the point. Whatever he was, he changed the world.
Remember back when you thought this might be you?