La épica de mi sorprendente relato es una mera interpretación subjetiva que destaca las partes por las que vivo y oculta por completo las partes que probablemente incitarían a la crítica ajena. Me he convertido en mi propio censor. Supresión como mecanismo de defensa, a veces noto que se me escapan las ganas de vivir de las manos y las echo antes a la trituradora, para luego volver a recogerlas y buscar la forma de volver a darles forma durante las semanas posteriores al golpe.
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way.