The Dream

This is a hot, sticky, boring day. The topic of the air conditioner spread throughout the courtyard. My older sister would say that outside people are crawling like 'sick cockroaches'. Even my blue frog seems like it is hibernating. I am sitting there and I hope something will happen. I tried to conceal Cedric. We caught fly and flies were flowing into my room. What he did was only to get asleep after screaming annoying. Then the doorbell rang. I walked the stairs twice, mostly on the last stairs, but I was in trouble, but still the people at the door thanked them.

There is a dream to bother the writer: a dream of a perfect novel. This is just a dream that causes confusion and suffering. The dream of this perfect novel is actually the dream of self revelation. In the United States, self is properly integrated into society. Their dream for their perfect novel is called "a great American novel." . . Still I think the principle is the same. On both sides of the Atlantic Ocean, we dream of a novel that fully conveys the truth of experience. Such revelation is impossible - it will always be a partial vision, and it is difficult to achieve even part of the vision. The reason why it is hard to think more than some wonderful novels is that the responsibility I've been talking about - the responsibility to convey the truth of my idea accurately - is the most demanding responsibility.

Yes, I was dreaming of a dream My dream is November 3. They are now teasing me and telling me that this is just a dream. But if a dream informs me of the truth, is it a dream or a reality? If a person recognizes the truth and sees the truth, you know this is the truth, and nothing else can exist, regardless of whether you are sleeping or awake. Let's make it like a dream. But you have lived so many real life that I originally wanted suicide. Enrich your strength!