The Sky Hides The Night Behind It

Not All The Ravages Caused By Our Merciless Age Are Tangible Ones. The Subtler Forms Of Destruction, Those Involving Only The Human Spirit, Are The Most To Be Dreaded.

Whereas The Tourist Generally Hurries Back Home At The End Of A Few Weeks Or Months, The Traveler Belonging No More To One Place Than To The Next, Moves Slowly Over Periods Of Years, From One Part Of The Earth To Another. Indeed, He Would Have Found It Difficult To Tell, Among The Many Places He Had Lived, Precisely Where It Was He Had Felt Most At Home.

Although I Knew Enough Freud To Believe That The Sex Urge Was An Important Mainspring Of Life, It Still Seemed To Me That Any Conscious Manifestation Of Sex Was Necessarily Ludicrous. Defecation And Copulation Were Two Activities Which Made A Human Being Totally Ridiculous. At Least The Former Could Be Conducted In Private, But The Latter By Definition Demanded A Partner. I Discovered, Though, That Whenever I Ventured This Opinion, People Took It As A Joke.

The Sky Hides The Night Behind It And Shelters The People Beneath From The Horror That Lies Above.

Because Neither She Nor Port Had Ever Lived A Life Of Any Kind Of Regularity, They Had Both Made The Fatal Error Of Coming Hazily To Regard Time As Non-existent. One Year Was Like Another Year. Eventually Everything Would Happen.