His question is no longer whether she knows him but how and to what extent, not whether they are important to each other but why. Unless, of course, none of it is true, if those images in his dream are not fragments of memory but something else: the scattered and half-formed ink-shapes of his mind's desperate attempt to author a self, which are not to be trusted.
Sunday, May 25, 2014
S. - Ship of Theseus - Pg 165
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