Because There Was Only One

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.

When You Sleep, Your Dream World Is As Real To You As Life, Isn’t It?

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.

Failures Plagued Me. Things I Had Omitted Or Ignored, Neglected. What I Should Have Given And Hadn’t. I Felt The Biting Pang Of Every Unfulfillment.

The Vampire Was Real. It Was Only That His True Story Had Never Been Told.