The Doll's House

For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel.

Love belongs to Desire. And Desire is always Cruel. -Old Man

Fictions are merely frozen dreams, linked images with some semblance of structure. They are not to be trusted, no more than the people who create them.

We don't have a clue what's really going down, we just kid ourselves that we're in control of our lives while a paper's thickness away things that would drive us mad if we thought about them for too long play with us, and move us around from room to room, and put us away at night when they're tired, or bored.

Chantal is having a relationship with a sentence. Just one of those things. A chance meeting that grew into something important for the both of them.

And Desire smiles, and forgets, for Desire is a creature of the moment.

Do you know what Freud said about dreams of flying? It means you're really dreaming about having sex." "Indeed? Tell me, then, what does it mean when you dream about having sex?

There is another version of the tale. That is the tale the women tell each other, in their private language that the men-children are not taught, and that the old men are too wise to learn. And in that version of the tale perhaps things happened differently. But then, that is a women's tale, and it is never told to men.

If there is a moral to this part of the story, and I distrust morals in the same way that I distrust beginnings, it is simply this: know that with which you deal.

Did I hear you say that you had no intention of ever dying?" "Um. Yeah. Yeah. That's right. It's a mug's game. I won't have any part of it." "Then you must tell me what it's like. Let us meet here again, Robert Gadling. In this tavern of the White Horse. In a hundred years.

I doubt I'm any wiser than I was five hundred years back. I'm older. I've been up, and been down, and been up again. Have I learned aught? I've learned from my mistakes, but I've had more time to commit more mistakes.

In the beginning… But of course we never see the beginning. We come in in the middle, after the lights have gone down, and try to make some sense of the story so far. Whisper to our neighbours “Who’s he? Who’s she? Have they met each other before?” We get by.

For love is no part of the dreamworld. Love belongs to Desire, and Desire is always cruel

I am coming through the barriers you have erected in this mind. I am coming, though the way be ardous and strange. Nothing will stop me. As I travel, I admire the craftsmanship in the construction of this maze, admire the traps and pitfalls they have wrought. You have learned well, my servants. To force the child to construct these barriers insides its mind, in its effort to escape the physical world; to build an island of dream alone and untouched by the true Dreaming... This takes skill. My admiration does not lessen my anger. I am dream. I am coming.

Y entonces ella despertó." Siempre he odiado que una historia acabe así. Hace que me sienta engañada.