Memory Was Such A Worthless Thing, Really.

Robert Neville Looked Out Over The New People Of The Earth. He Knew He Did Not Belong To Them; He Knew That, Like The Vampires, He Was Anathema And Black Terror To Be Destroyed. And, Abruptly, The Concept Came, Amusing To Him Even In His Pain. ... Full Circle. A New Terror Born In Death, A New Superstition Entering The Unassailable Fortress Of Forever. I Am Legend.

There We Will, I Pray, Remain And Learn And Grow Until The Time When We Will Rise Together To The Ultimate Heights, Changing In Appearance But Never In Devotion, Sharing The Transcendent Glory Of Our Love Through All Eternity.

How Quickly One Accepts The Incredible If Only One Sees It Enough.

Not Only Did I Rediscover Every Experience Of My Life, I Had To Live Each Unfulfilled Desire As Well—as Though They’d Been Fulfilled. I Saw That What Transpires In The Mind Is Just As Real As Any Flesh And Blood Occurrence. What Had Only Been Imagination In Life, Now Became Tangible, Each Fantasy A Full Reality. I Lived Them All—while, At The Same Time, Standing To The Side, A Witness To Their, Often, Intimate Squalor. A Witness Cursed With Total Objectivity.

In A World Of Monotonous Horror There Could Be No Salvation In Wild Dreaming. Horror He Had Adjusted To. But Monotony Was The Greater Obstacle, And He Realized It Now, Understood It At Long Last. And Understanding It Seemed To Give Him A Sort Of Quiet Peace, A Sense Of Having Spread All The Cards On His Mental Table, Examined Them, And Settled Conclusively On The Desired Hand.