History ... is a nightmare from which I am trying to wake. - James Joyce

One by one they were all becoming shades. Better pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally with age. He thought of how she who lay beside him had locked in her heart for so many years that image of her lover’s eyes when he had told her that he did not wish to live.

in the Nichtian glossery which purveys aprioric roots for aposteriorious tongues this is nat language at any sinse of the world (83.10-12)

His eyes were dimmed with tears, and, looking humbly up to heaven, he wept for the innocence he had lost.