Dead to the World

It was not only the thought that other people were moving on in their lives while I, at age fifty-two, remained stuck in a farce of human existence--though that appalled me and wakened in me a primitive insanity: a man with a hatchet gets to his feet and begins to dance in my mind whenever I have these thoughts. There is something worse. The fact that I had never lived, that I had thrown away my entire life, or had lost any meaningfully-lived experience in the chaos of mental illness. In many ways my travels through life had been a dangerous trip. I remember the bad episodes, speaking metaphorically, the rickety buses on mountain roads; the poisonous encounters with so many people; the opportunities that turned out to be dead-end traps; the abusive and crazy people I had met. My early childhood. Had I ever been happy?

I might have died, I think, in consolation. Surely it is better to be alive than dead. At least I am alive.

In adolescence it had always been a persistent worry of mine that I was doomed to die in a nuclear attack in a dismal place, where I had no business to be. I often dreamed of horrific explosions and blinding flashes of light, of my arms being hacked off by an angry mob, of catching fire. I always traveled as a stranger, alone. But I reassured myself with the sentiment that my family was waiting. It was a methodical superstition, like singing to keep my spirits up, and as long as they were thinking of me I would be safe--they were keeping me alive; and if I died they would be brokenhearted.

Now I knew better. I know that if I had died it would have made little difference. They would have been sorry in the guilty way that people are when some awful thing they desire deep down actually occurs. It might have been convenient, my death.

And now my death would mean nothing to anyone. The person I am now is not even the person I was twenty years ago. I am estranged from myself and my origins. It's as if someone else has taken over and totally displaced me. He -- the alter ego that has assumed my identity -- sits in my chair, writes at my desk, uses my books. He puts his feet on my stool. He sleeps on my side of the bed and dreams the dreams that I should be dreaming. I imagine the loss of my self, my sanity in this way. My vision is of the dining table, and a pen sitting atop a tablet of paper, the visible page smeared with ink. It was there when I left; and then I died, and someone else was at the table. But the pen and paper hadn't moved. It remained, with the smeared ink on it. The pronouncement It doesn't matter if you die is devastating. No one says that, but that is what everyone thinks. All my acquaintances or barely acquainted strangers who know of me think this, I'm sure.

I see now that my death does not matter. I was a fool for ever believing in my importance. I feel now that I don't count. Knowing all this is like dying; not cut down with one swipe of a blade, but going slowly as the truth sinks in and spreads like an infection.

I had always thought the most cynical lines in literature were in the Jacobean play The White Devil, by John Webster, and went something like: Before your corpse is cold you will already be forgotten:

O man,
That lie upon your death-bed and are haunted
with howling memories of the people you have known! Ne'er trust them; they'll forget you
Ere the worm pierce your winding sheet,
Ere the spider make a thin curtain for your epitaph.

It had seemed too cruel and taunting to be true.

It was true. I believe my case is worse, for I have not died but only gone away. I am lost and alone.

Who is Gary Freedman -- The Story Behind the Story

Easygoing: DRIVE: Can sometimes appear casual about work. Modest concern towards accomplishing goals. Able to set work aside. Quality and timeliness of work may ebb and flow with interest in task. ORGANIZATION: Reasonably well organized. May become somewhat disordered under heavy workload.

Very Private: Shy and reserved. Does not seek attention from others. Doesn't say much. Behavior is usually deliberate, cautious, and purposeful. SOCIABILITY: Enjoys some degree of socializing and being around people, but also values privacy.

Critical/Agreeable Blend: Makes an effort to be cooperative in social settings. Not overly concerned with getting along. Is able to work for the benefit of the group. EMPATHY: Can balance objectivity with others' feelings. Shows a reasonable amount of concern for others. TRUST: Has a generally forgiving nature. Moderate trust in others.

Very Reactive: Sensitive, emotional, and prone to experience feelings that are upsetting. Prone to be tense, insecure, and nervous. Experiences very strong and passionate emotions. ANXIETY: May suffer from anxiety, leading to a negative disposition. Sometimes worries too much. Feelings can be easily hurt. MOOD: Mood is fairly consistent. Can let go of anger after a short period of time.

Very Inquisitive: Curious. Seeks new experiences. Likely to have an unconventional approach to life. Enjoys intellectual discussion. Considers all aspects an issue before reaching a conclusion. CREATIVITY: Is quite original, creative and enjoys breaking new ground.

Letter from a Fellow Schizoid

This writeup is absolutely brilliant, articulate, and correct. I have been scouring the libraries and online journals for adequate information on SPD, and you seem to have it right here, good sir.

"Thus the schizoid's picture of 'good' behavior is distorted. The child learns never to nag or even yearn for love, because it makes the parent more distant and censorious. The child then may cover over the incredible loneliness, emptiness and ineptness he feels with a fantasy (often unconscious) that he is self-sufficient. Love and anger get hopelessly intertwined. Fairbairn argued that the tragedy of the schizoid child is that his conscience has been warped: he believes his love, not his hatred is the destructive force within. Love consumes. Hence the schizoid child's chief mental operation is to repress his or her normal wish to be loved."

So very true. I am a teenaged schizoid, and I found in my research on this condition that a lot of professionals have us tagged as "empty", "hollow", and "bitter". I would argue that we are not hollow; in fact, I think that if we were hollow we perhaps wouldn't suffer as much as we do. It is because we are not hollow that we suffer. We hate this need, this driving, fervent desire to love and be loved; we try to repress it and ignore it, and it is this love that causes pain. It is ironic therefore, that we even try to repress our pain until there is nothing left.

You are the first SPD source that has managed to pinpoint this crucial distinction: SPD emptiness does not derive from a lack of stimulation, but rather, too much of it causing subsequent withdrawal due to negative condition and traumatic experiences.

I got a lot of crap from my parents, teachers, professors, and other students about my seeming detachment and inability to commit.

Actually, I have recently met a friend who is, in all sense of the word, the most empathetic and compassionate individual I have ever met. We meet at both an intellectual level and a spiritual one, yet while I find myself wanting to spend time with this friend, it pains me to do so. It pains me to see this friend, and yet it pains me when I am not in her presence.

You have a fantastic writeup here, sir, and I commend you on your excellent research.

Holy Child Academy

Holy Child Academy
475 Shadeland Avenue
Drexel Hill, PA 19026

Happy Bloomsday!

Monday, June 16th, marks the hundred-and-fourth anniversary of Bloomsday, the date on which the events in James Joyce's Ulysses take place. The customary celebrations surrounding Leopold Bloom's famous walk through Dublin take place on Monday: public readings and festivals in cities around the world, including Dublin, New York, Berlin, Paris, St. Petersburg, and Melbourne. In Budapest last year, two hundred or so academics convened a Joyce symposium -- the twentieth to be held on Bloomsday.

Happy Bloomsday!

Watergate Revisited

The curtain is still down as I walk to the center of the proscenium and say this.
Abraham Pais, A Tale of Two Continents: A Physicist's Life in a Turbulent World.
There is no society in which reality and appearance coincide . . . . If Hamlet is obsessed by this discrepancy, this is not due to any psychopathology on his part; it is to be explained by the fact that he is in the unhappy state of knowing the truth, of having unveiled that secret on which the authority of the highest representative of the state basically rests.
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
What is important is that chance has allotted Hamlet the role of judge of his own time and servant of the future.
Boris Pasternak, I Remember.
External events have forced him to do what everyone of us has to do if the potential of man's minds is to be used to its fullest: he has discovered the difference between appearance and reality—and the conflict between them. . . .

The problem in question is the necessity of keeping secret the foundation on which the state rests. Who has the courage to face this truth?
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
Now the curtain rises.
Abraham Pais, A Tale of Two Continents: A Physicist's Life in a Turbulent World.
I walk out on the stage.
Leaning against a door jamb,
I try to catch in a distant echo . . .
Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago (Excerpt from “Hamlet”).
. . . the story of that man . . .
Homer, The Odyssey.
. . . who, like . . .
Sigmund Freud, Psychoanalytic Notes Upon An Autobiographical Account of a Case of Paranoia.
. . . Hamlet once looked truly into the essence of things, . . .
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy.
. . . the very essence of the unknown;
Jack London, White Fang.
. . . gained knowledge, and . . .
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy.
. . . prepared for all the consequences . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . dared to shatter . . .
Mark Frauenfelder, Cars for Arts Sake.
. . . the veils of illusion:
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Birth of Tragedy.
Who is the man who has wrought the deed ordained only for the strongest?
Richard Wagner, Gotterdammerung.
See him now!
Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Marble Faun.
. . . and see the breakers of misfortune swallow him!
Sophocles, Oedipus the King.
The following sketch, . . .
Kate Millett, Sexual Politics.
. . . drawn so clearly and in so much detail . . .
Boris Pasternak, I Remember.
. . . for the exclusive use of the highest authorities . . .
Hermann Hesse, Magister Ludi: The Glass Bead Game.
. . . is based primarily on background material and current impressions derived from press reports, including newspaper and magazine articles and television interviews. In addition, selected State Department and Federal Bureau of Investigation memoranda have been reviewed. As the data base is fragmentary and there has been no direct clinical evaluation of the subject, this indirect assessment should be considered . . .
C.I.A. Psychological Study.
. . . far from watertight . . .
Dr. Otto Eiser, Letter to Richard Wagner.
There is nothing to suggest in the material reviewed that subject suffers from a serious mental disorder in the sense of being psychotic and out of touch with reality. There are suggestions, however, that some of his long-standing personality needs were intensified by psychological pressures of the mid-life period and that this may have contributed significantly to his recent action.

An extremely intelligent and talented individual, subject apparently early made his brilliance evident. It seems likely that there were substantial pressures to succeed and that subject early had instilled in him expectations of success, that he absorbed the impression that he was special and destined for greatness. And indeed he did attain considerable academic success and seemed slated for a brilliant career. There has been a notable zealous intensity about the subject throughout his career. Apparently finding it difficult to tolerate ambiguity and ambivalence, he was either strongly for something or strongly against it. There were suggestions of problems in achieving full success, for although his ideas glittered, he had trouble committing himself in writing.

He had a knack for drawing attention to himself and at early ages had obtained positions of considerable distinction, usually attaching himself as a "bright young man" to an older and experienced man of considerable stature who was attracted by his brilliance and flair.
C.I.A. Psychological Study.
I have long been reminded of identical or very similar experiences with young men of great intellectual ability.
Richard Wagner, Letter to Dr. Otto Eiser.
But one can only sustain the role of "bright young man" so long. Most men between the ages of 35 and 45 go through a period of re-evaluation. Realizing that youth is at an end, that many of their golden dreams cannot be achieved, many men transiently drift into despair at this time.

In an attempt to escape from these feelings of despair and to regain a sense of competence and mastery, there is an increased thrust towards new activity at this time. Thus this is a time of career changes, of extramarital affairs and divorce.

It is a time when many men come to doubt their early commitments and are impelled to strike out in new directions.

For the individual who is particularly driven towards the heights of success and prominence, this mid-life period may be a particularly difficult time. The evidence reviewed suggests that this was so for Ellsberg, a man whose career had taken off like a rocket, but who found himself at mid-life not nearly having achieved the prominence and success he expected and desired.
Thus it may well have been an intensified need to achieve significance that impelled him to release the Pentagon Papers.
C.I.A. Psychological Study.
A brilliant and articulate member of the "military-intellectual complex" that was responsible for American military policy in Southeast Asia, Dr. Daniel Ellsberg underwent a conversion from cold-blooded hawk to committed dove and released to the . . .
Current Biography 1973.
. . . New York Times . . .
J. Moussaieff Masson, Final Analysis.
. . . portions of a top secret Pentagon study [the Pentagon Papers] tracing the history of American involvement in the Vietnam war.
Current Biography 1973.
Daniel Ellsberg, in whatever incarnation and in any job, was no ordinary man, he was an obsessive man; that which he saw, others must see, that which he believed, others must believe. Thus as he became increasingly disillusioned he also became a force. No one entered an argument with him lightly or left it exactly the same. As he became dovish, he was no ordinary dove; he was extraordinarily well informed, and his dovishness was that of formidable intelligence, of a mind that never stopped. As he reached each increment of doubt, he had to push on to one further level of knowledge and insight.
David Halberstam, The Powers That Be.
“I’ve always believed I could see things other people couldn’t. . . .”
Don Delillo, The Names.
. . . Ellsberg would muse . . .
Tom Wells, Wild Man: The Life and Times of Daniel Ellsberg.
“ . . . Elements falling into place. A design. A shape in the chaos of things. I suppose I find these moments precious and reassuring because they take place outside me, outside the silent grid, because they suggest an outer space that works somewhat the way my mind does but without the relentlessness, the predeterminative quality. I feel I’m safe from myself as long as there’s an accidental pattern to observe in the physical world.”
Don Delillo, The Names.
But whereas others might have been content with having come to the core of the rational explanation for the war (to the extent there was a rational explanation for something so irrational) he pressed on. He was a man who saw political events in terms of moral absolutes.
David Halberstam, The Powers That Be.
There is no suggestion that subject thought anything treasonous in his act. Rather, he seemed to be responding to what he deemed a higher order of patriotism. Many of subject's own words would confirm the impression that he saw himself as having a special mission, and indeed as bearing a special responsibility . . .
C.I.A. Psychological Study.
—that is to say, . . .
Sigmund Freud, Psychoanalytic Notes Upon An Autobiographical Account of a Case of Paranoia
. . . to show exactly how the minds of . . .
U.S. District Court (Southern District of New York), U.S. v. One Book Called “Ulysses.”
. . . those in authority . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams.
. . . had become dehumanized by political conceit.
Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago.
The articles in the New York Times made . . .
J. Moussaieff Masson, Final Analysis.
. . . a lot of officials look inept, foolish or worse.
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
Let there be no mistake however:
Margaret Brenman-Gibson, Clifford Odets: American Playwright.
None of . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . those passages of which the Government particularly complains . . .
U.S. District Court (Southern District of New York), U.S. v. One Book Called “Ulysses.”
. . . compromised American . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . military operations
Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago.
On several occasions he castigated himself for not releasing the papers earlier, observing that since he first brought them to the attention of . . .
C.I.A. Psychological Study.
. . . Members of Congress . . .
J. Moussaieff Masson, Final Analysis.
. . . there had been "two invasions," more than 9,000 American lives lost, and hundreds of thousands of Vietnamese deaths.
C.I.A. Psychological Study.
"Moreover"—he was not finished—
J. Moussaieff Masson, Final Analysis.
I will even go so far as to say, . . .
Emile Zola, The Debacle.
. . . if a nation . . .
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
—if, that is, . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and The Id.
. . . one’s country . . .
Emile Zola, The Debacle.
. . . is compelled to inflict such terrible destruction for the sake of establishing liberty, then this is indeed an unprecedented national disaster.
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
He said, "I felt as an American citizen, a responsible citizen, I could no longer cooperate in concealing this . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . cesspool of lies . . .
Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People.
. . . from the American people. I took this action on my own initiative, and I am prepared for all the consequences."
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
This myth of official infallibility must be destroyed.
Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People.
What makes that description so significant is that it suggests a man who . . . believes sincerely in the values of his time and his society and is ready as well as able to live up to them. This is someone who has formed his ideals and developed his superego in conformity with the standards of his cultural setting. . . . Yet the harmony of his personality has rested on the assumption that the society whose ideals he has integrated has its foundations in an ethical base. K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
As it was, the Crusader felt . . .
Walter Scott, The Talisman.
. . . as if he were . . .
Walter Scott, Ivanhoe.
. . . here in the situation of the truly religious person who has been leading a spotless life in conformity with the demands of the Sacred Texts. If it were now to be proved that these Sacred Texts are fraudulent or forged or otherwise invalid, such a faithful person would be thrown into a crisis . . .
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
In any case, . . .
Ernest Newman, Wagner as Man and Artist.
. . . Dr. E. . . .
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Saturday, May 18, 1878).
. . . true to the role of a sleuth . . .
K.R. Eissler, Talent and Genius.
. . . had learned too much, . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . while the . . .
Wilkie Collins, The Evil Genius.
. . . President of the United States . . .
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (editors' notes).
. . . lost face and then tried to save it, either . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . by dissembling . . .
William Shakespeare, King Richard III.
. . . or by ascribing the disastrous outcome . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . of that dissembling . . .
Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol.
. . . to the machinations of . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . the meaner Press—
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
. . . which was ready . . .
Charles Dickens, The Pickwick Papers.
. . . and eager, as always and everywhere, to pull down anything or anyone elevated by nature above it.
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
Without . . .
Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People.
. . . the ability of a government to keep secrets . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . said the President . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . I should not be able to guide and direct public affairs in the way I consider best serves the common weal.
Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People.
But in the end, the . . .
Felicity Barringer, Journalism’s Greatest Hits: Two Lists of a Century’s Top Stories.
. . . CIA psychiatrists . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . as it turned out—
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . .seemed to admire Ellsberg.
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
Some had praise for his courage, . . .
K.R. Eissler, Crusaders.
. . . although no one . . .
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis.
. . . dared to join him publicly or to give him official support.
K.R. Eissler, Crusaders.
This reaction made . . .
E. James Lieberman, Acts of Will.
. . . the President . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . furious.
E. James Lieberman, Acts of Will.
I can see him now, and hear his . . .
H.G. Wells, Experiment in Autobiography.
. . . convoluted rhetoric and almost surrealistic thoughts, . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . like . . .
Gore Vidal, 1876: A Novel.
. . . Joyce’s Ulysses—strains of presidential consciousness.
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
Something had to be done at once.
Joseph Conrad, The Rescue.
But what could . . .
Jean-Denis Bredin, The Affair: The Case of Alfred Dreyfus.
. . . The President’s Men . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, All The President’s Men.
. . . do? Was not the press outside of the government’s control? The . . .
Jean-Denis Bredin, The Affair: The Case of Alfred Dreyfus.
. . . Administration . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . sought to navigate between the imperatives of its foreign policy and those of its domestic policy. What could it do . . .
Jean-Denis Bredin, The Affair: The Case of Alfred Dreyfus.
. . . to appease . . .
Emile Gaboriau, The Honor of the Name.
. . . those screaming treason?
Jean-Denis Bredin, The Affair: The Case of Alfred Dreyfus.
The simple facts of an . . .
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
. . . intermezzo of the most shameful and insidious kind . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . are now known to be as follows.
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
Several members . . .
Henry Adams, Democracy: An American Novel.
. . . of the President’s . . .
Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams.
. . . staff hit . . .
Miguel de Cervantes, Don Quixote.
. . . on the idea of . . .
Henry Adams, Democracy: An American Novel.
. . . sending a message to . . .
Wilkie Collins, A Rogue’s Life.
. . . Mr. Nixon, . . .
Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
. . . representing the profile . . .
Charles Dickens, Great Expectations.
. . . as "very superficial" and underscoring their belief that the CIA could do a better job. They wrote: "We will meet tomorrow with the head psychiatrist . . . to impress upon him the detail and depth we expect."
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
Thereafter they . . .
Jack London, Created He Them.
. . . arranged a meeting . . .
Anthony Trollope, The Prime Minister.
. . . with the President.
Jack London, The Unparalleled Invasion.
How the . . .
L. Frank Baum, The Emerald City.
. . . attorney for . . .
Elden LaMar, The Clothing Workers In Philadelphia: History of Their Struggles for Union and Security.
. . . the President . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams.
. . . would have liked to have a full record of that meeting!
Elden LaMar, The Clothing Workers In Philadelphia: History of Their Struggles for Union and Security.
In preparing this
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
. . . account of the meeting . . .
Ralph Connor, The Doctor.
. . . the editors . . .
Mark Twain, Roughing It.
. . . had to contend with a number of . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
. . . transcript pages . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . which have been blocked out in . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
. . . the original manuscript . . .
The Diary of Richard Wagner: The Brown Book — 1865-1882 (editor’s introduction).
. . . to prevent disclosure of the truth;
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . presumably.
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness.
The quality of the ink used in these . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
. . . censorship . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams.
. . . operations leaves no doubt that they were performed at some later date, but by whom is an unsolved question.
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
Mr. Nixon thoroughly disapproved . . .
Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
. . . of proceeding with . . .
Charles Dickens, Dombey and Son.
. . . any action, . . .
Edgar B.P. Darlington, The Circus Boys in Dixie Land.
. . . but his staff . . .
Nathaniel Hawthorne, The Ambitious Guest.
. . . urged him to . . .
Wilkie Collins, The Evil Genius.
. . . carry it out.
Edgar B.P. Darlington, The Circus Boys on the Mississippi.
They then crossed the line into contemplation of criminal activity. "In this connection," they continued, "we would recommend that a covert operation be undertaken . . . ”
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . in stealthy haste . . .
Richard Wagner, Gotterdammerung.
. . . to examine all the medical files still held by Ellsberg's psychiatrist . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
—and discover, as far as opportunity allows, whether there is . . .
William Shakespeare, Hamlet (Modern English Version).
. . . something in those files, something that . . .
Kristine Williams, When The Stars Walk Backwards.
. . . would serve as a . . .
Richard Wagner, My Life.
. . . weapon that . . .
Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People.
. . . might be . . .
H.G. Wells, A Moonlight Fable.
. . . good enough to attack him with.
Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People.
The President . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . cut off the discussion. “No, no, no,” he said, his voice rising.
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
It’s insanity!
Robert Ludlum, The Prometheus Deception.
In the foregoing . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Friday, February 9, 1883) (editors’ emendation).
. . . the offensive word . . .
Anthony Trollope, The Prime Minister.
. . . sanitized . . .
The Oxford English Dictionary.
. . . has been . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Friday, February 9, 1883) (editors’ emendation).
. . . inked over . . .
Leo Tolstoy, Resurrection.
. . . with the word . . .
Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
. . . insanity.
Jack London, The People of the Abyss.
With the help of various chemical processes . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
. . . the editors . . .
Mark Twain, Roughing It.
. . . succeeded in bringing most of the obliterated passages . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
. . . in the . . .
Wilkie Collins, The Evil Genius.
. . . tapes, transcripts, and notes of . . .
Janet Malcolm, Psychoanalysis: The Impossible Professions.
. . . Nixon’s . . .
Mark Twain, Christian Science.
. . . six-year . . .
Janet Malcolm, Psychoanalysis: The Impossible Professions.
. . . Presidency . . .
International Psychoanalytic Association Newsletter.
. . . back to light, and they are now included in the text with an identification.
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Translator’s Introduction).
Have you lost your . . .
Richard Wagner, Gotterdammerung.
[left blank]
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Sunday, February 11,1883) (editors’ emendation).
. . . senses?
Richard Wagner, Gotterdammerung.
Let us be silent, let us be silent . . .
Richard Wagner, Letter to Judith Gautier.
. . . said the President, . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . nothing, not a single word of this disastrous business must be made public.
Henrik Ibsen, An Enemy of the People.
Leave it unrevealed!—
Richard Wagner, Parsifal.
Added at the bottom of the page:
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Sunday, February 4, 1883) (editors’ emendation).
. . . the reader might be overwhelmed by the tone and ignore the substantive support for the President’s version.
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
From what I can gather, . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . Ellsberg had been psychoanalyzed . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . for several years;
Edgar Rice Burroughs, The Mucker.
. . . a couple of Government . . .
Zane Grey, The Young Forester.
. . . agents had attempted to grill. . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . Mr. Fielding, . . .
Horatio Alger, Cast Upon the Breakers.
. . . the psychiatrist, but he had demurred, invoking the sanctity of the doctor-patient relationship.
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
And there it stood.
John Le Carre, The Night Manager.
Let us remember that . . .
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner.
A physician has . . . to possess . . . the subtlety of an agent of police or an advocate in comprehending the secrets of the soul without betraying them —
Friedrich Nietzsche, Human, All Too Human.
How much did . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . the President . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . suspect or know?
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
“To be honest, I have no idea. I believe the . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Prometheus Deception.
. . . full extent of the . . .
Charles Darwin, Origin of Species.
. . . operation was . . .
Henry James, Confidence.
. . . concealed from him
Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers.
Partly to protect the president from knowing too much about wet work and other sordid business, to provide him with plausible deniability . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Prometheus Deception.
. . . in the face of . . .
Henry James, In the Cage.
. . . the powers and limitations . . .
Oliver Wendell Holmes, The Guardian Angel.
. . . inherent in the constitution . . .
Karen Horney, New Ways in Psychoanalysis.
. . . that is, . . .
Henry James, In the Cage.
. . . the restrictions . . .
Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
. . . inherent in the office.
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
That’s standard operating procedure in intelligence outfits worldwide. And partly, I’m sure, because the president is considered by the permanent intelligence community to be a mere tenant of the White House. A renter. He moves in for four years, maybe eight if he’s lucky, buys new china, redecorates, hires and fires, gives a bunch of speeches, . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Prometheus Deception.
. . . and large dinner-parties, . . .
Jane Austen, Emma.
. . . and then he’s gone. Whereas the spies remain. They’re the permanent Washington, the true inheritors.”
Robert Ludlum, The Prometheus Deception.
It . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . is very difficult for Americans—who are, on the whole, accustomed to open and direct dealing—to give full weight to this . . .
Raymond A. Bauer, Alex Inkeles, & Clyde Kluckhohn, How the Soviet System Works.
. . . principle of preservation . . .
Charles Darwin, Origin of Species.
. . . as I call it.
Anthony Trollope, The Last Chronicle of Barset.
Perhaps only those who have had fairly intimate and sustained contact with . . .
Raymond A. Bauer, Alex Inkeles, & Clyde Kluckhohn, How the Soviet System Works.
. . . the underground ways . . .
Richard Wagner, ‘The Capitulation’ (sketch for a planned farce).
. . . of secret intelligence . . .
Edith Wharton, The Reef.
. . . have a picture that approaches imaginative reality. The deviousness of behavior, the disposition to “read between the lines” and to interpret the acts of others at several different levels, the whole system of wheels within wheels—all of this is so foreign to American experience and psychology that it is all too easy to laugh it off as “E. Phillips Oppenheim stuff.”
Raymond A. Bauer, Alex Inkeles, & Clyde Kluckhohn, How the Soviet System Works.
As for the evidence . . .
Wilkie Collins, The Law and the Lady.
Well, I say, . . .
Jack London, At the End of the Rainbow.
. . . it’s not . . .
John Galsworthy, Beyond.
. . . like the overture of an opera in which all the themes are announced.
Janet Malcolm, Psychoanalysis: The Impossible Profession.
Explaining the origin of . . .
David Berlinski, Has Darwin Met His Match?
. . . covert operations . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . by an appeal to . . .
David Berlinski, Has Darwin Met His Match?
. . . tangible evidence . . .
Jack London, Burning Daylight.

. . . is rather like explaining the origin of Don Quixote by an appeal to the physical properties of ink and paper.
David Berlinski, Has Darwin Met His Match?
The functional importance of the . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . the presidential office . . .
Ronald C. White, Jr., Lincoln’s Greatest Speech: The Second Inaugural.
. . . in this field . . .
William Shakespeare, Coriolanus.
. . . is manifested in the fact that normally control over . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . .domestic-intelligence-gathering activities by the FBI, the CIA and military intelligence units. . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . devolves upon it. Thus in . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . the President’s . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . relation to . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . covert operations . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . he is . . .
Anthony Trollope, The Last Chronicle of Barset.
. . . like a man on horseback, who has to hold in check the superior strength of the horse; with this difference, that the rider tries to do so with his own strength while the . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . President of the United States . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . uses borrowed forces. The analogy may be carried a little further. Often a rider, if he is not to be parted from his horse, is obliged to guide it where it wants to go; so in the same way . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . the President . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . is in the habit of transforming the . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . intelligence community’s . . .
James Risen, Probe Faults CIA on 9/11 Terrorist.
. . . will into action as if it were . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id.
. . . his own.
Anthony Trollope, The Last Chronicle of Barset.
But then . . .
Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
. . . as the saying goes, . . .
H.G. Wells, The War of the Worlds.
. . . the President . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . is not master in . . .
Sigmund Freud, A Difficulty in the Path of Psycho-Analysis.
. . . his . . .
Sigmund Freud, The Ego and the Id (editor’s note).
. . . own house.
Sigmund Freud, A Difficulty in the Path of Psycho-Analysis.
Chief’s orders . . .
John Le Carre, The Night Manager.
. . . were to . . .
Joseph Conrad, The Secret Agent.
. . . use undercover operatives with no White House ties, . . .
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
. . . to break into . . .
Jack London, The People of the Abyss.
. . . the office of Daniel Ellsberg’s psychiatrist . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . and tell them . . .
William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
. . . the job . . .
Edgar B.P. Darlington, The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings.
. . . concerned a traitor who was passing information to the Soviet embassy. Except for the fact that the Russians subscribe to the New York Times, this was untrue.
William Manchester, The Glory and the Dream.
How much, to repeat, did . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . the President . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . know of all this?
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
As always—
Henry James, The Ambassadors.
. . . the short answer is that we don’t know.
Think Tank: A Few Questions, Mr. Shakespeare.
The President . . .
Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams.
. . . liked the passage from Nietzsche that . . .
Peter Gay, Freud: A Life for Our Time.
. . . the Secretary of State . . .
Joseph Conrad, The Secret Agent.
. . . quoted to him: “ ‘I did this,’ says my Memory. ‘I cannot have done this,’ says my Pride and remains inexorable. In the end—memory yields.”
Peter Gay, Freud: A Life for Our Time.
As to the moral part of his character, . . .
Alexandre Dumas, Ten Years Later.
. . . the President, . . .
Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams.
. . . as a matter of routine, . . .
Jack London, The Sea Wolf.
. . . Amalgamated . . .
Elden LaMar, The Clothing Workers In Philadelphia: History of Their Struggles for Union and Security.
. . . Fiction and Truth.
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Fiction and Truth.
In Nixon the . . .
Bruce Mazlish, In Search of Nixon: A Psychohistorical Inquiry.
. . . good reasons . . .
Peter Gay, Freud: A Life for Our Time.
. . . and the . . .
Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
. . . real reasons . . .
Peter Gay, Freud: A Life for Our Time.
. . . would embrace . . .
H.G. Wells, A Moonlight Fable.
. . . interlace, part and unite; like a dance.
The Diary of Richard Wagner 1865-1882 — The Brown Book.
The subject . . .
Joe Klein, The Running Mate.
. . . of covert . . .
William Shakespeare, Measure for Measure.
. . . action had been . . .
Edith Wharton, The Age of Innocence.
. . . broached gingerly . . .
Joe Klein, The Running Mate.
. . . darkly, . . .
Richard Wagner, Gotterdammerung.
. . . and almost as a . . .
Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace.
. . . bothersome subplot of the greater drama, the quest to get . . .
Joe Klein, The Running Mate.
. . . the President’s . . .
Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams.
. . . political . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . future squared away.
Joe Klein, The Running Mate.
Whatever the . . .
Henry Adams, The Education of Henry Adams.
. . . President knew . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
. . . the order of the acts . . .
Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago (Excerpt from “Hamlet”).
. . . had been . . .
William Shakespeare, Hamlet.
. . . schemed and plotted,
And nothing . . .
Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago (Excerpt from “Hamlet”).
. . . could . . .
William Shakespeare, Hamlet.
. . . avert the final curtain’s fall.
Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago (Excerpt from “Hamlet”).
In the end, . . .
Edgar B.P. Darlington, The Circus Boys Across the Continent.
. . . the President . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . would be forced to . . .
Somerset Maugham, Of Human Bondage.
. . . stand alone . . .
Boris Pasternak, Dr. Zhivago (Excerpt from “Hamlet”).
. . . on the political stage, . . .
Alexandre Dumas, The Black Tulip.
. . . accountable for the . . .
Charles Dickens, Hard Times.
. . . deeds of others.
Dante Alighieri, The Divine Comedy.
The attorney for . . .
Elden LaMar, The Clothing Workers In Philadelphia: History of Their Struggles for Union and Security.
. . . the President . . .
Robert Ludlum, The Parsifal Mosaic.
. . . later described . . .
Booth Tarkington, Penrod.
. . . Nixon as a stage manager . . .
Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, The Final Days.
—nothing more!
John Galsworthy, The Dark Flower.
. . . of a run of rehearsals for a play he had failed to take part in.
John Le Carre, The Night Manager.
It is plain that denial and hypocrisy . . .
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
. . . two qualities that are present . . .
LuxSonor Semiconductors, Inc., The LuxSonor LS188.
. . . in every individual . . .
Sigmund Freud, Civilization and Its Discontents.
. . . are also . . .
Charles Darwin, Origin of Species.
. . . the very foundations of society
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
To take an analogy from . . .
Sigmund Freud, An Outline of Psychoanalysis.
. . . psychoanalysis—
Leonard Garment, Crazy Rhythm.
We see the ego, Freud wrote, "as a poor thing, which is in threefold dangers: from the external world, from the libido of the id, and from the severity of the superego." Exposed to anxieties corresponding to these dangers, the ego, for Freud, is a beleaguered, far from omnipotent negotiator earnestly trying to mediate among the forces that threaten it and that war with one another. It labors to make the id tractable to the pressures of the world and of the superego, and at the same time tries to persuade the world and the superego to comply with the id's wishes. Since it stands midway between id and reality, the ego is in danger of "succumbing to the temptation of becoming sycophantic, opportunistic, and mendacious, rather like a statesman who, with all his good insights, still wants to keep himself in the favor of public opinion."
Peter Gay, Freud: A Life for Our Time.

Ancient Stones

In 1978 I made a trip to Rome. Rome, Italy. Not Rome, New York. I had wanted to visit Rome since childhood. I had always been entranced by ancient Rome. A feeling of astonishment mingled with joy always attended my contemplation of books about the ancient city. I had especially wanted to see the Pantheon, an ancient temple in the heart of Rome that is the most perfectly preserved of all ancient Roman structures -- and next to the Coliseum, the most famous. It is made of brick and covered with a huge concrete dome. The exterior of the Pantheon remains much as it always was. The interior, however, was thoroughly looted of its marble, its bronze statues, its precious coffering and ornaments.




For some time after I arrived in Rome I stayed away from the Pantheon. It daunted me, that somber edifice. I preferred to wander in the modern city, imperfect, blaring. The weight and moment of those bricks and mortar promised to make the business of seeing them a complicated one. So much converges there. It's what we've rescued from the madness. Beauty, dignity, order, proportion. There are obligations attached to such a visit.

Then there was the question of its renown. I saw myself walking the rough streets of central Rome, past the discos, the handbag shops, the rows of bamboo chairs. Slowly, out of every bending lane, in waves of color and sound, came tourists in striped sneakers, fanning themselves with postcards, the lovers of Rome, laboring through the streets, vastly unhappy, mingling in one unbroken line to the monumental piazza in front of the Pantheon.

What ambiguity there is in exalted things. We despise them a little.

I kept putting off a visit. The building stood apart from the hissing traffic like some monument to doomed expectations. I'd turn a corner, adjusting my stride among jostling shoppers, there it was, the tanned concrete riding its mass on the concrete of the Piazza San Macuto. I'd dodge a packed bus, there it was, at the edge of my field of vision.

One night (as we enter narrative time) I was riding in a bus back to my hotel after dinner and we, the passengers, seemed to be lost in some featureless zone when the driver made a sharp turn into a one-way street, and there it was again, directly ahead, the Pantheon, floodlit for an event, some holiday or just the summer sound-and-light, floating in the dark, a gray fire of such clarity and precision I was startled into sharp awareness.

We sat there a moment, considering this vision. It was a street in decline, closed shops and demolition, but the buildings at the far end framed the temple perfectly. Someone at the back of the bus said something, then a car came toward us, horn blowing. The driver stuck an arm out the window to gesture. Then his head appeared, he started shouting. The structure hung ahead of us like a star lamp. I gazed a moment longer and the driver proceeded down the street.

I asked the person next to me what the man had called the bus driver.

"Masturbator. It's standard. An Italian will never say anything he hasn't already said a thousand times."

A Monstrous Absurdity: An Experiment in Prose

I am a fugitive from the world of everyday reality. At times, my conscience is oppressed, and expects or makes for itself new oppressions from the world I have left behind but that nonetheless proclaims itself in all its power all around me. In the manifold bustle that fills day and night there is probably not a single task in which I can participate with all my heart, and my failure to venture into anything should not be regarded with the certainty of blame or disdain, or even contempt. There is in this a remarkable peace! It might perhaps be said, to alter a proverb, that a bad conscience, as long as it is bad enough, may almost provide a better pillow on which to rest than a good one: the incessant ancillary activity in which the mind engages with a view to acquiring a good individual conscience as the final outcome of all the injustice in which it is embroiled is then abolished, leaving behind in mind and emotions a hectic independence. A tender loneliness, a sky-high arrogance, sometimes pours their splendor over these holidays from the world, alongside one's own feelings the world can then appear clumsily bloated, like a captive balloon circled by swallows, or mutatis mutandis, humbled to a background as small as a forest at the periphery of one's field of vision. The offended civic obligations echo like a distant and crudely intrusive noise; they are insignificant, if not unreal. A monstrous order, which is in the last analysis nothing but a monstrous absurdity: that is the world. And yet every detail I encounter also has the tensed, high-wire-act nature of the once-and-never again, the nature of discovery, which is magical and admits of no repetitions; and whenever I want to speak of this, I do so in the awareness that no word can be uttered twice without changing its meaning.

What is it that God does in the Bible?

What is it that God does in the Bible? Put simply, he gets people. He takes care of them. He lays on this monumental justice. Oh the curses, the admonitions; the plagues, the scatterings, the ruinations, the strikings dead, the renderings unto and the tearings asunder. The floods. The fires. It is interesting to note that God as a character in the Bible seems almost always concerned with the idea of his recognition by mankind. He is constantly declaring His Authority, with rewards for those who recognize it and punishment for those who don't. He performs fancy tricks. He enlists the help of naturally righteous humans who become messengers, or carriers of his miracles, or who deliver their people. Each age has by trial to achieve its recognition of Him -- or to put it another way, every generation has to learn anew the lesson of His existence. The drama in the Bible is always in the conflict of those who have learned with those who have not learned. Or in the testing of those who seem that they might be able to learn. And that's what God does in the Bible.

The Truth

Good morning. Actually, that's not true. I've just looked at my watch and realized that it's a few minutes after noon. That's a lie. It's early evening. I apologize.

So. Good evening. This isn't easy for me. Wait. That's also a lie. Oddly, this is easy for me. I don't know why, but it is. I very rarely mean it when I apologize to someone. Maybe that's why it's so easy.

Recently, questions have come to light regarding one . . . a few . . . every blog post I've written over a brief period . . . two months . . . four months . . . for a certain popular . . . actually not so popular . . . in truth, rarely read . . . blog called My Daily Struggles.

I'd like to take this opportunity to set the record straight. Perhaps I should start with my name. Which isn't Gary Freedman. It's Jim Halpert. Actually, that's not true, either. Jim Halpert is a name I heard on the TV show, The Office. My real name is J. Robert Oppenheimer. No, it's not. It's William Faulkner. I'm sorry, that's not wholly true. My birth name is Pierre Dupont Circle. Was. Before I changed it. I'm so sorry. My name, my given name, is Count Almasy. My father was a Hungarian nobleman. Honest. This feels good.

I was wrong to write a blog post titled "How I Burned My Foot." Wrong, too, to make up people's names and quotes. Especially wrong to plagiarize the story about how I burned my foot on a Foreman Grill. I don't even own a Foreman Grill. And I don't eat bacon. I'm kosher. Actually, that's a fabrication. I'm not kosher. But, in fact, I don't eat bacon.

Not a day . . . week . . . season . . . planting cycle passes when I don't think about a travel post I wrote about a trip to Rome I made in 1978. I failed to actually go to Rome, owing to prior commitments as well as to my general lack of interest in Latin countries. It is difficult to express the depth of my sympathy to President Berlusconi of Italy, who is a close friend of mine.

I stand by my blog post about an incident that happened to me while in summer camp in which I wrote that fellow campers doused my buttocks and genitals with green paint. Despite the fact that that was a lie. I stand by both my post and the lie. And I apologize for both.

The post that perhaps did go too far was "My Interview with Jesus Christ." Parts of that story were untrue, though I did strike up a friendly correspondence with Mr. Christ, whom I now claim as a dear friend. Stop it. That's a lie. And a lie is a sin. Mr. Christ told me that.

It is difficult to say why I lied so often, though perhaps it has something to do with having seen my parents brutally murdered when I was nine years old by a deranged cleaning woman while my grandparents, brothers, sisters, and friends languished in a hospital, dying of cancer, leukemia, typhus, and mumps. Which is not what happened, and I am sorry for even typing those words, though I did like, just for a moment the way they looked on the page and the effect they had on you. And on the Pulitzer committee. Sorry.

When the wall of lies finally did come crashing down around me, I remember thinking, Can I lie my way out? I know now that my reaction was a cry for help. And in its own way, for a book contract. I have spent much time in the past few years in the care of a fine Viennese psychoanalyst and believe that I have got to the bottom of my mendacity, a word that the character Big Daddy uses in the play "Cat on a Hot Tin Roof," by Tennessee Williams. Who was my uncle.

Know this, my fellow bloggers: without honesty, there can be no trust. Even if the blog posts you fabricated were very, very convincing.

On Borrowed Wings: The Plagiarized Confession of a Plagiarist

I would give almost anything I have to reverse the course of my life in the last year. The past doesn't change for anyone. But at least I can learn from the past.

I've learned a lot about life. I've learned a lot about myself and about the responsibilities any man has to his fellow man. I've learned a lot about good and evil -- they're not always what they appear to be.

I was involved, deeply involved, in a deception. I have deceived my friends, and I have millions of them. I lied to the American people. I lied about what I knew and then I lied about what I did not know. In a sense, I was like a child who refuses to admit a fact in the hope that it will go away.

Of course it did not go away. I was scared, scared to death. I had no solid position, no basis to stand on for my self. There was one way out and that was simply to tell the truth.

It may sound trite to you, but I've found myself again after a number of years. I've been acting a role, maybe all my life, of thinking that I've done more, accomplished more, produced more than I have. I have had all the breaks. I have stood on the shoulders of life, and I've never gotten down into the dirt to build, to erect a foundation of my own. I have flown too high on borrowed wings. Everything came too easy.

The foregoing is the testimony of Charles van Doren before a Congressional committee investigating the TV quiz show scandal of the late 1950s.

My Sister and I at Lunch in Washington, DC

Gary, You're a Poet!

How You Approach Life

You, Poet, are an unusually complex, creative person with a lot of insight to share. Life shows you many hidden secrets, and it's your duty to find ways to express these gems to the rest of the world.

You are unusually sensitive to the surrounding stimuli in your life, and that's something many people can't handle. Instead of freaking out about it though, you have a special ability to release the stress that can build up — even on a daily basis.

When your environment does get out of hand, you are able to separate from the madness, process it, and use it in positive ways to affect your life. It is that uncanny ability that allows you to carry on in your hard-working responsible ways, where others would simply crumble.

Another unique aspect of your personality is your unusually rich rapport with yourself and your imagination. But to tap into your creative genius, you sometimes need to isolate yourself from the surrounding chaos and steal away to quieter, more comfortable environments. Since you spend so much time with your thoughts, you often generate particularly original ideas and that leads to your tendency to cultivate original interests.

Some people might see you as shy, but at the heart of it they just might misunderstand you. You relish the friends that you have and they recognize their importance in your life. You probably put a premium on one-on-one time with them and organize intimate get-togethers that can last well into the night. You are full of insights and inspiration, even though sometimes you're inclined to keep them to yourself. You'll likely find that if you trust your instincts more, you might not feel the need to beat yourself up for your occasional mistakes.

Overall, you're an especially gifted individual, whose thoughts about our world are valid and valued. So keep at it, Poet.

Your areas of greatest vulnerability

Your greatest vulnerability is that your senses are on overdrive, soaking in anything and everything from the environment. Things that others might not notice sometimes can send you reeling. The reason this makes you vulnerable is that it can affect your ability to cope with the world effectively. Although your sensitivity is a wonderful asset, it can be scary knowing that you could be distracted at any time. If someone wants to push your buttons, they can go after this, because there's not much you can do to protect yourself from your own sensitivity. Be your best: Buffering yourself with quiet and calm situations will help, and recognizing and choosing friends and associates who respect your boundaries will also make things easier.

Section II — What makes you a Poet?

Your personality is actually determined by two personality sub-types — your primary, or dominant sub-type, and your secondary sub-type.

In your case, Poet, your two sub-types are Thinker and Golden. Your primary sub-type is defined by "Thinker" characteristics and your secondary sub-type is defined by "Golden" characteristics.

Your primary type is Thinker

Like other people with Thinker characteristics you are extremely sensitive to external stimuli. You tend to be extraordinarily aware of your surroundings — responding emotionally to small changes that others might not even notice. To combat feeling overwhelmed, you may like to move a bit more slowly and seek out calm environments that won't stress you out.

Intellectually, you like to dig deep into a problem to solve it — even when others grow impatient and move on to other subjects. As far as entertainment goes, you gravitate toward media that is sentimental and peaceful — you like feel-good stories. You are more likely than others to be interested in books, inspirational media, self-improvement and arts and crafts.

If there is a change in the air, Thinker, nobody is more aware of it than you. You have an unusually refined sensitivity to subtle changes in your environment and from time to time, this can manifest as a fear that the worst is going to happen. You may have a tendency to be constantly on guard because you ultimately are working to prevent a perceived catastrophe from happening.

Your secondary type is Golden

People with Golden characteristics have unusually high self-esteem and are very conscientiousness. They are responsible, dependable, and dutiful — people others rely on. They are also efficient, and do not like to waste time. They tend to go about life with a positive attitude — both about themselves and the world around them.

Intellectually, Goldens are careful, deliberating thinkers. In terms of entertainment, Goldens enjoy media that is romantic, happy, and inspiring, and tend to avoid media that is dark, edgy, and sad. They are interested a wide variety of things including cooking, eating out, nutrition, travel, sports, recreation, fitness, health and traditional religion.

Section III — Your Four Personality Dimensions

Your primary and secondary personality sub-types determine your personality type. There are, however, additional elements that contribute to your complete personality profile.

Based on how you answered the questions on the Ultimate Personality Test, we have determined where you fall on four distinct personality scales: Relaxed/Apprehensive, Self-Doubt/Confidence, Safety-Seeking/ Risk-Taking, and Internal Experience/External Appearance. The scales are not dependent on one another. They are meant to show you whether you tend towards one or the other extreme, or are somewhere in the middle.

Here's the breakdown of your scores on the four personality dimension scales.

Relaxed Apprehensive
Self-Doubt Confidence
Safety-Seeking Risk-Taking
Internal Experience External Appearance


Relaxed versus Apprehensive

Relaxed Apprehensive

Your scores place you in the extremely relaxed region of the relaxed/apprehensive scale. This means that relative to others who have taken the test, you have a calm disposition. It also indicates that you are good at dealing with change and chaotic situations.

Like other people who score high on the relaxed side of this scale, you are likely to be stimulated by chaos and may approach life with a "the more the better" kind of attitude. Your energy levels veer toward high because you tend to be relaxed about problems that are out of you control. You are someone who is relatively less inclined to react emotionally to things that happen — not because you don't feel the emotions, but because you don't let things get to you as easily as others.

The flip side of this is people who score high on the apprehensive side of this scale. They are likely to be drawn to situations that are less stimulating to their senses. Because they are easily affected by change, they try to stay away from environments that can over-stimulate them.

These people have strong reactions to what others would consider minor changes. That is why people who score high on the apprehensive side of the scale try to slow down the pace. When faced with chaotic situations, they will look for more calming places to be. Despite their talents, they are generally more self-critical and shy than others, even if it seems there's no reason for them to be.

Since you're someone who thrives on excitement, you need to take time to analyze different aspects of your life if you're feeling unhappy. Are you feeling stunted, bored or depressed about something you can't quite put a finger on? The answer could lie in uncovering an element of your routine that isn't challenging or stimulating enough. Is your job predictable or easy? Do have a hard time finding good entertainment in your town? Are your relationships falling into a rut?

Even if friends and family envy your life — your home, your mate, your job — remember it's ok if you're still not satisfied. It doesn't mean that you're not grateful, it simply means that you need a change to keep you from being bored. If you're not up for dramatic life changes, make sure you're vigilant about mixing things up a little: take a new class, plan a trip, learn a new skill, or start an art project.

Self-Doubt versus Confidence

Self-Doubt Confidence

Your scores place you in the moderately self-doubting region of the self-doubt/confidence scale. This means that relative to others who have taken the test, you are less confident than most. It also indicates that although you may be generally less satisfied with yourself than are others, you are still able to put your best foot forward when needed.

Since you scored just slightly more on the self-doubting side of things, let's take a look at characteristics of people who scored more towards the extremes of the self-doubt/confidence scale to gauge where you fall in between.

People scoring high on the confidence side are extremely self-assured and responsible. Because of these traits, they are often the one friends and colleagues come to rely on — both on the job and in personal situations. These people are also known for having unusually high self-esteem and are natural leaders.

People who score high on the self-doubt side of the scale have a tendency to look to others to determine their self-worth. They seek calm environments and often focus their energies on jobs that have less responsibility and are therefore less stressful. They are sometimes prone to being overly-critical about themselves, but can work their way out of those thoughts because ultimately, others might point out their talents.

To really enjoy life, you, in particular, need your freedom from obligations. If you're feeling stifled, uncreative or unhappy, look at your life and figure out if there are areas where you are carrying too much responsibility. Then see if you can shed any of them.

When you carry too many unnecessary burdens, you can weigh yourself down. In this world filled with multi-tasking, power people, the trick is learning how to sort the necessary obligations from unnecessary duties.

Having more burdens than your fair share is a stress you don't need in your life. Luckily, you can control more of this than you might think — as long as you just decide what to take on, and what to leave to others.

Safety-Seeking versus Risk-Taking

Safety-Seeking Risk-Taking

Your scores place you well into the safety-seeking side of the safety-seeking/risk-taking scale. This means that relative to others who have taken the test, you prefer to play it safe and seek the security of knowing ahead of time what the outcome will be.

Like other people who score high on the safety-seeking side, you tend to prefer that your environment remains stable. To you, predictability has positive connotations and stability is a comfort and an indication of safety.

On the flip side are people who score high on the risk-taking side of the spectrum. They combine a love of the new and unusual with a talent for inquisitive, abstract thinking. They seek out action and feel that both structure and predictability are strangling experiences.

Some things in life are within your control and some aren't. If you're feeling intimidated, or uncertain throughout your days, take a look at your life and figure out which areas are unpredictable and what areas are not. You can't eliminate the unpredictable. But there might be ways you can better structure your routine around the unpredictable.

For example, you can control which train you want to take, but you can't control if the train is going to be on time. By recognizing the elements you can be in charge of, you can adapt your patterns accordingly. If you have a critical meeting, realize there is a possibility that your train could be late. Instead of racing out the door at the last second, prepare yourself to catch the early train — just in case your regular train is late. Learn an alternate route. Is there a different bus you could take, a faster train that leaves from a different stop? Since you feel most comfortable in predictable situations, try thinking ahead and structuring where you can.

External Appearance versus Internal Experience

Internal Experience External Appearance

Your scores place you in the moderate external appearance region of internal experience/external appearance scale. This means that relative to others who have taken the test, you take more pride in how things appear to others. It also indicates that occasionally, you are focused on the internal experience of a given situation.

Since you scored just slightly more on the external appearance side of things, let's take a look at characteristics of people who scored more towards the extremes of the scale to gauge where you fall in between.

People who score high on the internal experience side of the scale don't really believe that material possessions are a reflection of their success. In fact, they tend not to focus on how things appear to others at all. They feel that success comes from doing a good job, and knowing that they have positively influenced the world.

People who score high on the external appearance end of the scale tend to be motivated by a wish to be socially desirable. They want to move up and be seen in the world. For them, true success is important, and material possessions are the sign they have achieved it. Therefore, these people sometimes believe that happiness is directly a result of success and that the possessions they own are a reflection of that success.

If you're feeling dissatisfied, take a look at your life and figure out if there are areas where you are compromising your values. Is your heart really in it when you go to the gym every day or are you doing it because your friends are? You probably have your own reasons, but don't fall in with friends just to be part of your group — even if it seems the thing to do at the time.

While friends might be racing to buy the latest electronic gadget or flashy car, you might wonder why you don't have a strong drive to acquire the same things. Don't worry. You're just happier focusing on other things in your life. That's not to say you don't like having nice things, it's just that you acquire things you need more than things you want to show off. If you feel indifferent toward external appearances, it may not be worth it to you to put much energy into maintaining them. Listen to yourself, since it's you — not other people — who knows what you like best.

Section IV — The Poet and the World Around You

How Others See You

You're composed and sophisticated. Socially, you project a flawless exterior — organized, thoughtful, and somewhat restrained. People are impressed by your unruffled image and see you as stable and mature. Occasionally others may worry that they don't measure up in your obviously discerning eyes.

Communication Style

Your gift, is the ability to handle intense conflict without losing your cool. With your level-headed approach, you are able to shrug off most of the bothersome things people say. Occasionally, you might question your actions or others' criticisms of you. But despite some lingering concerns, you are almost always well-served by your composure in the face of confrontation.

Your Romantic Life

Your romantic ideal is a sweet and loving partner — someone to cocoon with. Your best match is also a hit with your family and friends. You long for stability, coziness and the comfort of sharing a life with someone who cares. You gravitate toward domesticity and commitment. At the same time, you want your partner to fit in well with the other people in your life. When friends, family, coworkers and others approve of your partner, it gives you a sense of security and community that you just love.

You At Your Best

You are blessedly free from many common fears and anxieties about the world. You're at your best when you're using your ease and fearlessness to explore possibilities and get to know yourself better. Entertain your inclinations. Learn by trial and error. Challenge yourself and then be gentle when you bump up against your limitations. You'll find great satisfaction and strengthen your sense of self when you get your feet wet in the stream of life.

Achieving Success

You are focused on success in your life; and you define it in a variety of ways. You love the boost you get from getting credit for your work, financial rewards, achieving your personal goals, finding luck in love, having great friends and, in sum, getting what you want. You can be held back, however, by a pesky self-doubt that occasionally questions your ability to really “make it” in the world. You've never been afraid to let the world know what you have to offer. Whether it's standing up to take credit in a work scenario or letting a new person you meet get a sense of your charms right away, you know how to put your best assets front and center. A challenge for you in the area of ambition is to partner with others as you pursue your dreams. Don't let that niggling self-doubt keep you from teaming up, combining resources and sharing the trip. You'll find the rewards of being on a team or part of a duo can be felt during the process and pay off in the final reward.

What Really Motivates You

Peace and stability are your motivating rewards. You're willing to work hard if it means creating comforting ease for yourself and your loved ones. You value stability and security. And you know that it sometimes takes sophisticated thinking and clever planning to pull off simplicity. You're always motivated to think ahead now if it means less stress later.

Conflict

Sure you have your pet peeves and irritations, but your even-keeled personality helps you sail through tough situations. The frequent difference between what people deserve — in terms of credit, money, happiness, friends or any type of reward — and what they actually have can be pretty galling for you. Not to mention times when you don't feel justly rewarded for your efforts and assets! But it takes a lot to get you angry enough to say or do anything, so overt conflicts are few and far between in your life.

Getting Unstuck in Your Life

You may not know it yet, but you're ready to take some chances. You'll break out of insecurities and stuck places in your life when you open up to new experiences. Try something new and pay attention to how it makes you feel. You have a natural resilience; so don't fear that your experiments with work, interests, relationships or self-exploration will fail. Wherever they lead you, you'll find yourself with more self-knowledge and a richer understanding of your place in the world.

An Angry, Wrathful God

My father was not what one would ordinarily consider to be an intellectual, but like most intellectuals he had resources of character that manifested themselves in his elusiveness. He was brash, or perhaps simply foolish, an untested young man -- a man-boy -- who walked out of high school in the middle of the tenth-grade, and found no one following him. No one quit Central High School in the tenth grade. It was a school for academically-talented boys, boys who were college bound. He was a selfish man. A selfish and elusive man. Or maybe no, merely so physically rude that he appeared selfish. Whatever he did had such personal force that it seemed offensive. Like sticking his tongue out to examine it in the mirror. Like shaving in front of me, talking all the while, while my eyes followed his razor through the thin spread of brushless cream. And when he was through, his jaw was as blue as before. That was offensive. That was selfishness of a profound sort. Yet he was also elusive. He kept his razor clean. It always looked unused. He never left blotches of gloppy shaving cream in the sink. He never left the shower faucet dripping. He never left towels wadded up. You never knew he'd been there. He had a way of being both conspicuous and inconspicuous. He was both obscure and preeminently visible -- how beautiful that is to contemplate. His breathing was noisy. Bending over the television or adjusting the thermostat, or reaching down to retrieve a section of the newspaper from the floor, you could hear the concentration of turning or reaching in his release of breath, as if assuring himself that he was working hard and that something considerable was at stake.

He didn't accept me for a long time as a child. I had blond hair like a goy. Golden blond, fine hair. My sister was dark, her pure black hair a source of pride to my father. In retrospect I would say that my father was ashamed of me, of my goyisheh hair, my goyisheh reticence, my goyisheh passivity. He found it odd that he was my father. Why would I think that if it wasn't so? When I was a boy I myself questioned my paternity. Could this man really be my father? This old Jewish man, so many years older than my blond, goyisheh mother. It all seems so silly now. How could this man not be my father? He seemed to study his son like a psychologist through a pane of glass. My father perpetuated our apartness, my sense of otherness. He didn't understand what I meant when I flirted with him like a woman, the way a shy girl flirts with her first crush. Do boys flirt with their fathers -- passively, obscurely? He didn't understand my angers, or what I wanted when I pleased him. With his legs crossed at the knees and his large rude eyes magnified by his glasses. With his bald head, that ancient bald head that, to a seven-year-old, resembled President Eisenhower's.

But this describes just a moment's oversensitive perception by the little criminal of perception. He was never warm and affectionate. He was my secret, elusive lover. A powerful and furious presence in my life. Like Jehovah. I feared him as if he were an angry, wrathful God. What I remember is the lectures. He wanted me to grow up with a sense of my Jewishness. He wrestled my mother for my soul. He worked on me to counteract the bad influences of my mother, with her Christian notions and Christmas decorations. That was our relationship -- my relationship with my father -- his teaching me to have a sense of myself as a Jew.

The Legacy

Should we not look for the first traces of imaginative activity as early as in childhood? The child's best-loved and most intense occupation is with his play or games. Might we not say that every child at play behaves like a creative writer, in that he creates a world of his own, or, rather, re-arranges the things of his world in a new way which pleases him? It would be wrong to think he does not take that world seriously; on the contrary, he takes his play very seriously and he expends large amounts of emotion on it. The opposite of play is not what is serious but what is real. In spite of all the emotion with which he cathects his world of play, the child distinguishes it quite well from reality; and he likes to link his imagined objects and situations to the tangible and visible things of the real world. This linking is all that differentiates the child's 'play' from 'phantasying'.
Sigmund Freud, Creative Writers and Day-Dreaming.
A man's maturity—consists in having found again the seriousness one had as a child, at play.
Friedrich Nietzsche, Beyond Good and Evil.
Ludwig Geyer . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . Father Geyer . . .
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Thursday, December 26, 1878).
. . . had left him a toy theater for which he made himself some puppets, and at some point he started to write a play about knights of old.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
“ . . . I made a little boat out of a cigar box and rag figures, with red and white shirts . . . blue ribbons around the head, and I put them out into the sunlight . . . ”
Helen A. Cooper, Thomas Eakins The Rowing Pictures.
. . . with all the men armed and arrayed in battle formation.
Medieval Sourcebook: The Battle of Hattin 1187.
The opening scene of this gory melodrama fell into his sisters' hands, and their scornful laughter was terrible to hear. It may well have been a similar play that Cacilie . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . Richard's eldest sister . . .
Hollis Alpert, Burton.
. . . recalled him presenting during a summer excursion to Loschwitz, where the Geyers owned a cottage.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
May had begun, and after weeks of cold and wet a mock summer had set in.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
The young adventurer who was planning dramas on a Shakespearean scale almost as soon as . . .
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
. . . the family had made its . . .
Alice Ferguson, Mouton brothers stake claim in Vermilionville.
. . . arrival in the country . . .
Ludwig van Beethoven, Symphony No. 6 ("The Pastoral").
. . . set up his miniature stage beside the steps on the castle hill.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
On this high note the puppet show commences.
Herman Wouk, War and Remembrance.
As a boy, even as a child, I was thrown much upon myself.
Anthony Trollope, An Autobiography.
To be sure no one was aware of him. The family was entirely absorbed in . . .
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis.
. . . the continuing "ordinary cares of life."
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
Thus it came to pass that I . . .
Anthony Trollope, An Autobiography.
. . . an invisible scourge . . .
Richard Wagner, Das Rheingold.
. . . was always going about with some castle in the air firmly built within my mind.
Anthony Trollope, An Autobiography.
A seventh child, eight years after the last-born, I . . .
Arthur Rubinstein, My Young Years.
—fortunately or unfortunately—
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis.
. . . rang the bell at the gates of life as a belated and rather unwanted guest.
Arthur Rubinstein, My Young Years.
The family . . .
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis.
. . . were but . . .
Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop.
. . . used to him, it seemed; they suffered him among them . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . while he, for his part, . . .
Leo Tolstoy, Boyhood.
. . . simply detached himself from the cold and unrewarding world and retreated into phantasy.
Frances Donaldson, P.G. Wodehouse.
Such was Wagner's response to a deep existential need—his means of escape.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
His dreams . . .
Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay: A Novel.
. . . obscure and ambiguous . . .
Henry James, In the Cage.
. . . dreams of transcendence—
Richard Schickel, They Sorta Got Rhythm.
. . . had always been Houdiniesque: they were the dreams of a pupa struggling in its blind cocoon, mad for a taste of light and air . . .
Michael Chabon, The Amazing Adventure of Kavalier & Clay: A Novel.
. . . yet enjoying in some curious way . . .
J. Moussaieff Masson, The Psychology of the Ascetic.
. . . the glory of its aloneness.
Roger Zelazny, Auto-da-Fe.
Through his sensibility and charm he was sought after as a friend. . . . But what he was searching for, and never found, was real spiritual involvement with another person.
Vivien Noakes, Edward Lear.
"I shall surely leave the world with my great longing to have seen and known a man I truly venerate, who has given me something, unsatisfied. In my childhood years I used to dream I had been with Shakespeare, had conversed with him; that was my longing finding expression."
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Friday, May 26, 1871).
He loved Geyer . . .
Robert W. Gutman, Richard Wagner: The Man, His Mind, and His Music.
. . . and gilded with mythical significance . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . several lines from . . .
Harry Rusche, John Hamilton Mortimer. The Poet, 1775.
. . . a little play that Geyer wrote for the family circle in . . .
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
. . . I think it was toward the end of December, 1817.
Ludwig van Beethoven, Conversation Book.
" . . . As for Richard, there's no need to worry about him. He goes his own way so quietly, . . .
Ludwig Geyer, Die Uberraschung.
. . . but he . . .
William Shakespeare, Hamlet.
. . . will find his public."
Ludwig Geyer, Die Uberraschung.
They are words, mere words, are they not? . . . But yet there is something in them—
Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Der Rosenkavalier.
Had Geyer been gifted with prophetic vision he could not have painted a truer picture of . . .
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
. . . a son . . .
Richard Wagner, Siegfried.
. . . who later became great—
Erik H. Erikson, Young Man Luther.
. . . by preserving in . . .
Charles Darwin, The Variation of Animals and Plants Under Domestication.
. . . himself the clear eye of the . . .
Erik H. Erikson, Insight and Responsibility.
. . . child who satisfies . . .
U.S. Social Security Administration, Disability Requirement to Entitle a Grandchild When a Parent is Disabled.
. . . the charismatic hunger of mankind . . .
Erik H. Erikson, Young Man Luther.
. . . by waving . . .
Jonathan Swift, Gulliver’s Travels.
. . . his wand of magic over the world
Richard Wagner, Die Walkure.
Geyer pinned all his brightest hopes on Richard . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . his tender heir . . .
William Shakespeare, Sonnet No. I
. . . and it was with a feeling of placid exultation that . . .
Mark Twain, Roughing It.
. . . the older man perceived that the lad was not entirely unresponsive to all the tender notice lavished on him.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
But by the autumn of 1821, when the boy was barely eight and a half years old, Geyer was already dead.
Hans Mayer, Portrait of Wagner.
On the afternoon of . . .
Adam Gopnik, The City and the Pillars: Taking a Long Walk Home.
. . . the day my father died . . .
Richard Ford, Love Lost.
. . . the old schoolmaster . . .
Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop.
. . . came and took me . . .
Richard Wagner, My Life.
. . . for a journey . . .
Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop.
. . . to the country. We walked all the way, and did not arrive until nightfall. On the way I asked him many questions about the stars, about which he gave me my first intelligent notions.
Richard Wagner, My Life.
I never saw the heavens so . . .
William Shakespeare, The Winter’s Tale.
. . . brim with . . .
Charles Dickens, The Old Curiosity Shop.
. . . stars—countless stars.
Bertolt Brecht, Galileo.
I thought of their unfathomable distance, and the slow inevitable drift of their movements out of the unknown past into the unknown future.
H.G. Wells, The Time Machine.
It was a . . .
Mark Twain, Roughing It.
. . . dream night, the comet, the Wain, Orion, full moon, the mildest air, and motionless silence!
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Tuesday, October 31, 1882).
I believe I was too frightened and amazed to cry.
Richard Wagner, My Life.
In Richard’s account, . . .
Hollis Alpert, Burton.
. . . his schoolmaster had said . . .
Jerome Jerome, Three Men In A Boat.
. . . “Of you he hoped to make something.”
Richard Wagner, My Life.
I remember that for a long time after I used to imagine . . .
Richard Wagner, Autobiographical Sketch.
. . . father's posthumous approval . . .
Michael Elkin, Jerry Lewis: The former Borscht Belter, now 69, plays the Devil in Damn Yankees on Broadway.
. . . and . . .
Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain: A Biography. 1907-1910.
. . . desired to please . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . him; . . .
Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain: A Biography. 1907-1910.
. . . suffered agonies at the thought of failure
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
I could not help thinking . . .
Jack London, The Mutiny of the Elsinore.
'If my father were alive, what would he say to this?'
Sigmund Freud, The Interpretation of Dreams.
The earliest recollections of my childhood are fixed on this stepfather and pass from him to the theater.
Richard Wagner, My Life.
Incidentally, a word about Wagner's . . .
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner.
. . . Autobiographical . . .
Sigmund Freud, An Autobiographical Study.
. . . writings:
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner.
Throughout his life . . .
Hollis Alpert, Burton.
. . . he was an . . .
Mark Twain, Roughing It.
. . . endless and remarkable raconteur. He liked most of all to delve into the past and tell of his origins
Hollis Alpert, Burton.
The reader will already have noticed . . .
K.R. Eissler, Talent and Genius.
. . . that Wagner . . .
Mark Twain, At the Shrine of St. Wagner.
. . . is above all an actor.
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner.
But to continue:—
George Gordon, Lord Byron, Don Juan.
What attracted me so strongly to the theater, in which I include the stage itself, the compartments behind the scenes, and the dressing-rooms, was not so much the desire for entertainment and diversion, such as motivates today's theatergoers, but rather a tingling delight in finding myself in an atmosphere that represented such a contrast to normal life by its purely fantastic and almost appallingly attractive quality. Thus a set, or even a flat—perhaps representing a bush—or a costume or even only a characteristic piece of one, appeared to me to emanate from another world and be in a certain sense interesting as apparitions, and contact with all this would serve as a lever to lift me out of a monotonous everyday reality into that fascinating demoniacal realm.
Richard Wagner, My Life.
And so I learned that there were two kinds of reality, but that of the stage was far more real.
Arthur Miller, Timebends.
One birthday, probably his tenth, was made memorable by a sudden storm that swept the flimsy . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . toy . . .
Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain: A Biography. 1907-1910.
. . . theater into the air, ripped the curtain to shreds, and scattered the puppets in all directions. The heavens opened, sending the audience scampering down the steps . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . they had to turn this way and that . . .
John Russell Brown, Shakespeare and His Theatre.
. . . in search of shelter but the bedraggled playwright continued his performance in a voice choked with tears, clasping the remains of his ruined theater in his arms.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
The others called him, at first gaily, then imploringly; he would not hear.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
He eventually consented to be taken home, still weeping. For some time afterward, mutilated puppets would occasionally be discovered and returned to him by sympathetic playmates.
That was how it all began. It was his first theatrical rumpus, a characteristic clash with incalculable forces.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
In the space of a few minutes the sky had turned black and it began to rain. Soon the rain increased until it became a stubborn downpour and the thick earth . . . changed to a blanket of mud, a hands-breadth deep.
Primo Levi, Moments of Reprieve: A Memoir of Auschwitz.
What is difficult to render in adult language is the combination, almost the fusion of delight and menace, of fascination and unease I experienced as I retreated to my room, the drains spitting under the rain-lashed eaves, and sat, hour after entranced hour, turning the pages, committing to memory . . .
George Steiner, Errata: An Examined Life.
Hardly was he well inside his room when the door was hastily pushed shut, bolted and locked. The sudden noise in his rear startled him so much that his little legs gave beneath him. It was his sister who had shown such haste.
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis.
Until then I had had so many ways out of everything, and now I had none.
Franz Kafka, A Report to an Academy.
I was glad . . .
Hermann Hesse, Demian.
. . . glad and grateful . . .
Ludwig van Beethoven, Symphony No. 6 ("The Pastoral").
. . . when I finally lay in my bed.
Hermann Hesse, Demian.
I felt that it had become my . . .
Ulrich Baer, Listening to Survivors’ Testimonies.
. . . haven of refuge
Isaac Deutscher, Israel’s Tenth Birthday.
Beyond the open window . . .
William Faulkner, Light in August (Chapter 16).
—one could hear rain drops beating on the window gutter—
Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis.
. . . the sound of insects has not ceased, not faltered.
William Faulkner, Light in August (Chapter 16).
When I had lain in bed awhile, enveloped by its warmth and safety, my fearful heart turned back once more in confusion and hovered anxiously above what was now past.
Hermann Hesse, Demian.
There I lay aside . . .
Arnold Schoenberg, A Survivor From Warsaw.
. . . turning the pages, committing to memory . . .
George Steiner, Errata: An Examined Life.
. . . the contents of . . .
Jack London, The Mutiny of the Elsinore.
. . . a small book in blue waxen covers.

It was a pictorial guide to coats of arms in the princely city [of Salzburg] and surrounding fiefs. Each blazon was reproduced in color, together with a brief historical notice as to the castle, family-domain, bishopric, or abbey which it identified. The little manual closed with a map marking the relevant sites, including ruins, and with a glossary of heraldic terms.
Even today, I can feel the pressure of wonder, the inward shock which this chance "pacifier" triggered.
George Steiner, Errata: An Examined Life.
The creative writer does the same as the child at play. He creates a world of phantasy which he takes very seriously—that is, which he invests with large amounts of emotion—while separating it sharply from reality.
Sigmund Freud, Creative Writers and Day-Dreaming.
Delving back into the past, immersing himself in his childhood and adolescence, contemplating his early career, conjuring up all the joy and anguish of a lifelong quest for fulfillment—all the errors and delusions, too—Wagner was inundated with a profusion of mental images during his weeks and months in Venice . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . the city from which . . .
H.G. Wells, When the Sleeper Wakes.
. . . a shocked and respectful world received the news of his decease.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
He lived off the past and was haunted by it. He dreamed of going skating . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . on a frozen lake, . . .
Alan Lightman, Einstein’s Dreams.
. . . recalled scenes from his childhood and described them to Cosima, was once more addressed in his dreams as Richard Geyer . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . Geyer, . . .
Theodor Herzl, Old-New Land.
. . . the name of the musician’s real father
Desmond Stewart, Theodor Herzl: Artist and Politician. A Biography of the Father of Modern Israel.
I had the lonely child's habit of making up stories and holding conversations with imaginary persons, and I think from the very start my literary ambitions were mixed up with the feeling of being isolated and undervalued. I knew that I had a facility with words and a power of facing unpleasant facts, and I felt that this created a sort of private world in which I could get my own back for my failure in everyday life.
George Orwell, Why I Write.
I remember a little incident in connection with . . .
Arthur Rubinstein, My Young Years.
. . . Grandmother Geyer, who was still alive, . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . and shared . . .
Charles Dickens, Bleak House.
. . . her gloomy back room with some captive robin redbreasts.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
Lest it . . .
William Shakespeare, The Winter’s Tale.
. . . grieve her deeply . . .
Richard Wagner, Gotterdammerung.
. . . her eldest . . .
Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.
. . . son's death had to be . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . hidden from her . . .
Richard Wagner, Gotterdammerung.
. . . a pretense in which Richard, too, was expected to join. He took off his mourning and talked to the ailing old woman as though Ludwig still existed—strangely enough, without difficulty.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
Be that as it may.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
I felt adventure in my blood . . .
Arthur Rubinstein, My Young Years.
I had put together a drama in which Shakespeare, principally through . . .
Richard Wagner, My Life.
. . . both Hamlet and Lear . . .
K.R. Eissler, Discourse on Hamlet and HAMLET.
. . . had contributed.
Richard Wagner, My Life.
Once more:
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner.
Words, words, mere words . . .
William Shakespeare, Troilus and Cressida.
The plot was essentially a variation of Hamlet; my alteration consisted in the fact that my hero, upon the appearance of the ghost of a father murdered in similar circumstances and calling for vengeance, is galvanized into immediate action and goes mad after a series of murders.
Richard Wagner, My Life.
The unreality of the writer's imaginative world, however, has very important consequences for the technique of his art; for many things which, if they were real, could give no enjoyment, can do so in the play of phantasy, and many excitements which, in themselves, are actually distressing, can become a source of pleasure for the hearers and spectators at the performance of a writer's work.

There is another consideration for the sake of which we will dwell a moment longer on this contrast between reality and play. When the child has grown up and has ceased to play, and after he has been labouring for decades to envisage the realities of life with proper seriousness, he may one day find himself in a mental situation which once more undoes the contrast between play and reality. As an adult he can look back on the intense seriousness with which he once carried on his games in childhood; and, by equating his ostensibly serious occupations of to-day with his childhood games, he can throw off the too heavy burden imposed on him by life and win the high yield of pleasure afforded by humour.
Sigmund Freud, Creative Writers and Day-Dreaming.
Oh, that is my salvation, this ability to convert the most serious of things into nonsense in a flash—it has always kept me from going over the brink. Thus, for example, in the midst of my composing today, I . . .
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Tuesday, August 6, 1878).
. . . found it quite impossible to compose . . .
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Elective Affinities.
. . . a single modulation or turn.
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Friday, April 12, 1878).
He took up his pen several times and laid it down again because he could not make up his mind what he ought to . . .
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Elective Affinities.
. . . write and . . .
Mark Twain, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court.
. . . rose up and wandered . . .
Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
. . . through the rooms and now and again . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Tuesday, October 3, 1882).
. . . wrote . . .
Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain: A Biography. 1907-1910.
. . . down a joke . . .
Cosima Wagner’s Diaries (Tuesday, October 3, 1882).
. . . but was . . .
Albert Bigelow Paine, Mark Twain: A Biography. 1907-1910.
. . . indisposed.
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Tuesday, October 3, 1882).
He resolved, he rose to his feet . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . to leave the . . .
Mark Twain, Roughing It.
. . . noble apartment of the palace . . .
Mark Twain, The Prince and the Pauper.
. . . where he lived . . .
Mark Twain, A Burlesque Biography.
—and now undertook a walk, in the hope that air and exercise might send him back refreshed to a good evening's work.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
Moored at ground-floor level and ready for use at all times was the gondola presided over by Luigi, Wagner's favorite gondolier. Luigi used to ferry him to St. Mark's Square, . . .
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
. . . beneath balconies of delicate marble traceries flanked by carven lions . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . through the canal under the Bridge of Sighs . . .
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Thursday, November 16, 1882).
. . . round slippery corners of wall, past melancholy fa¸ades with ancient business shields reflected in the rocking water.
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
There, there . . .
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Wilhelm Meister.
. . among the . . .
Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer.
. . . Notable Sights of Venice . . .
Mark Twain, Innocents Abroad.
. . . Wagner . . .
Mark Twain, At the Shrine of St. Wagner.
. . . liked to sit on the stone bench in front of the basilica, unrecognized and unnoticed by the strollers and tourists who gazed up at the four bronze horses on the portico. He would sit there hunched with his elbows propped on his knees, a pose in which he half-humorously predicted that his corpse would someday be discovered.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
This leads to many jokes!
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Sunday, November 26, 1882).
The Sense of Humor . . .
Max Eastman, The Sense of Humor.
. . . was a palliative that never failed to ease the strain and pain of his relations with the world around him.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
"It would be my greatest triumph if I were to make you all laugh in my final hour."—
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Wednesday, May 19, 1880).
When we know what all are, we must bewail us,
But ne'ertheless I hope it is no crime
To laugh at all things—for I wish to know
What, after all, are all things—but a show?
George Gordon, Lord Byron, Excerpt from Don Juan.
But yet . . .
Hugo von Hofmannsthal, Der Rosenkavalier.
The human theater of life, . . .
Erik H. Erikson, Young Man Luther.
. . whether . . .
Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger.
. . . circumscribed for each . . .
Erik H. Erikson, Young Man Luther.
. . . person . . .
Mark Twain, The Mysterious Stranger.
. . . by the power of . . .
Erik H. Erikson, Young Man Luther.
. . . comedy or tragedy . . .
R.D. Laing, The Self and Others.
. . . Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, . . .
William Shakespeare, The Tempest.
. . . and will not be recall'd
George Gordon, Lord Byron, Manfred.
Not that he knew it, Wagner's own bond with Venice was already sealed.
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.
Wagner had, in fact, signed his own death warrant in going . . .
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
. . . to Venice, . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . though his resilient temperament and his indomitable will were able to postpone execution of the sentence for a few . . .
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
. . . priceless, equable days . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . yet.
Ernest Newman, The Life of Richard Wagner.
—Ah, this old magician!
Friedrich Nietzsche, The Case of Wagner.
Verily, . . .
William Shakespeare, The Winter’s Tale.
. . . like an aging actor . . .
Mike Wilson, Death of a Pumpkin: Day 8.
. . . set down in the middle of a Shakespeare play!
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Friday, September 5, 1879).
—But, alas, . . .
William Shakespeare, Cymbeline.
. . . the old wizard . . .
Joseph Conrad, Tales Of Unrest.
. . . no longer had the strength to play a part.
Robert W. Gutman, Richard Wagner: The Man, His Mind, and His Music.
My friends! His death . . .
Is Jesus The Son Of God.
. . . was as glorious as his life.
Paul von Joukowsky, Letter to Malwida von Meysenbug Describing the Death of Wagner.
Our adventurer felt his senses wooed by . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . the shrill, folklike singing of a boy rowing a gondola through storm and rain . . .
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Saturday, October 28, 1882).
It seemed to him the pale and lovely Summoner out there smiled at him and beckoned; . . .
Thomas Mann, Death in Venice.
. . . the journey home, beneath glittering stars with the bells tolling, is wonderful.
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Tuesday, October 31, 1882).
Already the burning Pleiades descend into the sea.
Arrigo Boito, Otello (after the play by William Shakespeare).
And in the evening . . .
Cosima Wagner's Diaries (Tuesday, October 31, 1882).
. . . as the . . .
Mark Twain, Christian Science.
. . . deathly stillness grows ever deeper . . .
Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, Elective Affinities.
—it was an . . .
Mark Twain, Christian Science.
. . . unforgettable moment . . .
Hermann Levi, Letter to His Father (Rabbi Levi of Giessen).
. . . when with weary eyes . . .
Celia Moss, Mordecai: A Tale of the English Jews in the Thirteenth Century.
. . . he remarked slowly,
Emma Goldman, Living My Life.
. . . laying down his pen, . . .
Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness.
"I am like Othello. The long day's task is done."
Martin Gregor-Dellin, Richard Wagner: His Life, His Work, His Century.