A Man Could Get Used To Anything

…they Think Of Suicide As A Quick Route To Oblivion, An Escape. Far From It. It Merely Alters A Person From One Form To Another. Nothing Can Destroy The Spirit. Suicide Only Precipitates A Darker Continuation Of The Same Conditions From Which Escape Was Sought. A Condition Under Circumstances So Much More Painful.

Now When I Die, I Shall Only Be Dead.

He Stood There For A Moment Looking Around The Silent Room, Shaking His Head Slowly. All These Books, He Thought, The Residue Of A Planet’s Intellect, The Scrapings Of Futile Minds, The Leftovers, The Potpourri Of Artifacts That Had No Power To Save Men From Perishing.

Memory Was Such A Worthless Thing, Really. Nothing It Dealt With Was Attainable. It Was Concerned With Phantom Acts And Feelings, With All That Was Uncapturable Except In Thought. It Was Without Satisfaction.

I Had To Write About Realistic Circumstances. Thats The Way My Brain Works. And I Think That Gave Me A Sort Of Place In The Field.