The Midnight Watch
“His hair was parted in the middle above a high forehead that told me he was intensely clever – so clever he was most likely insane. In a few weeks, I knew, he was going to lock himself in a packing crate with two hundred pounds of lead and have himself thrown into the East River from a tugboat. He blazed with a fearsome intelligence; he seemed to know that life could only be tasted in its most concentrated form at its boundary with death. But there was something about his face that was pained. ...This man, I thought, was a prisoner of his own brilliance, his own incessant thoughts. His was a brain that never stopped. Every packing crate, steel box and vault he escaped was an enactment in the outer world of an escape he could never achieve in the inner. His mind was a straitjacket. Behind those eyes, that furrowed brow, that non-compromising intensity, was someone trying to get out.
A man’s own soul can be the very worst sort of prison, I supposed.
At least, that was how I read the face in the framed photograph above my table as I drank my beer, waited for my train and thought about things.MoreLess
A man’s own soul can be the very worst sort of prison, I supposed.
At least, that was how I read the face in the framed photograph above my table as I drank my beer, waited for my train and thought about things.MoreLess
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