Could there be irony crueler than this? How, upon his rescue, the truth had brought him here, to a house for the mad, for only a madman believes what every child knows to be true: There are monsters that lie in wait under our beds.
A man lies upon the floor, spreads his arms, and transforms himself into a ship of a thousand sails.
It isn't that the lies are too beautiful to resist. It's that the truth is too hideous to face.
We are slaves, all of us...Some are slaves to fear. Others are slaves to reason—or base desire. It is our lot to be slaves...and the question must be to what shall we owe our indenture? Will it be to truth or to falsehood, hope or despair, light or darkness? I choose to serve the light, even though that bondage often lies in darkness.
But hope is no less realistic than despair. It is still our choice whether to live in light or lie down in darkness.