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There is between sleep and us something like a pact, a treaty with no secret clauses, and according to this convention it is agreed that, far from being a dangerous, bewitching force, sleep will become domesticated and serve as an instrument of our power to act. We surrender to sleep, but in the way that the master entrusts himself to the slave who serves him.
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The most astonishing suicide took place in this resort community. A young man descended into the basement of his family’s home, where the father maintained an elaborate hobby workshop with all manner of meticulously cared-for tools, and he severed his leg with a table saw. Before losing consciousness, he cut off a hand as well.
He left no note, nor, as is the fashion these days, a video of himself.
His classmates at school said that in the preceding week he had been quieter than usual and he hadn’t been as neat or as organized as he usually was, or on time. But no one knew him really. How many ways do we discover the inaccessibility of another’s mind.
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Joy Williams | “Mr. Sandman”