Man is nothing else but what he makes of himself. - Jean-Paul Sartre

The idea is still there, unnameable. It waits, peacefully. Now it seems to say: “Yes? Is that what you wanted? Well, that’s exactly what you’ve never had (remember you fooled yourself with words, you called the glitter of travel, the love of women, quarrels, and trinkets adventure) and this is what you’ll never have — and no one other than yourself.” But Why? WHY?

I wanted my own words. But the ones I use have been dragged through I don't know how many consciences.

"So this is hell. I'd never have believed it. You remember all we were told about the torture-chambers, the fire and brimstone, the "burning marl." Old wives' tales! There's no need for red-hot pokers. Hell is — other people!"