And it explains much about me, too, about the limits of my experience, about the fact that the person I am in my head is so far from the person I am in the world. Nobody would know me from my own description of myself.

The moon rose, an opalescent goddess tipping light from her harsh maternal scimitar.

Ya no había amigos, sino camaradas. Pero persistía una diferencia: unos camaradas eran más agradables que otros.

Suddenly, pacing by the water, he was overcome with astonishment. He found himself understanding the wearisomeness of this life, where every path was an improvisation and a considerable amount of one's waking life was spent watching one's feet.

Written By William Golding

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