I'm glad it was a short story ... ( )

When the last days were upon me, and the ugly trifles of existence began to drive me to madness like the small drops of water that torturers let fall ceaselessly upon one spot of their victim's body, I loved the irradiate refuge of sleep. In my dreams I found a little of the beauty I had vainly sought in life, and wandered through old gardens and enchanted woods.

In certain moods I could read that and think, "Yeah, I've been there." In most moods I think, "Grow up." The disaffection of the pampered has little appeal to me. I'm probably being harsh.

A read this whole story as the memory of a suicide.

(Moved 2015 review to the individual work Sept. 2017 to make room to review the collection under its own entry.) ( )

Um homem visita o mundo dos sonhos e tenta ficar lá devido à sua vida pouco satisfatória. ( )