A young man is afraid of his demon and pulls his hand over the demon's mouth sometimes and speaks for him.

To sense the peace of extinguished passionHappiness in not knowing the ultimate knowledge

It was like something lurking in the darkness within him...There is remained in the darkness, the great pain, tearing him at times, and then being silent.

I am not a mechanism, an assembly of various sections.and it is not because the mechanism is working wrongly, that I am ill.I am ill because of wounds to the soul, to the deep emotional self,and the wounds to the soul take a long, long time, only time can helpand patience, and a certain difficult repentancelong difficult repentance, realization of life__ mistake, and the freeing oneselffrom the endless repetition of the mistakewhich mankind at large has chosen to sanctify.

So he was always in the town at one place or another, drinking, knocking about with the men he knew. It really wearied him. He talked to barmaids, to almost any woman, but there was that dark, strained look in his eyes, as if he were hunting something.Everything seemed so different, so unreal. There seemed no reason why people should go along the street, and houses pile up in the daylight. There seemed no reason why these things should occupy the space, instead of leaving it empty. His friends talked to him: he heard the sounds, and he answered. But why there should be the noise of speech he could not understand.

You are the call and I am the answer,You are the wish, and I the fulfilment,You are the night, and I the day. What else? It is perfect enough. It is perfectly complete. You and I, What more_? Strange, how we suffer in spite of this!