Island of the World: A Novel

“For to act with our own purpose, though not wrong, is to limit the actions of life. And for purpose to be true purpose, it must be contained within submission.”

Well, I admit it appeals to me. At the same time, an inner note of caution: something warns me not to jump to conclusions. There may be more models to come, ones that human intellect cannot yet conceive.

People always seem to fall in love with an image first, never the substance, for to know the substance of man would spell the end of the human race within a generation. Well, perhaps not. But certainly the end of marriage, and not long thereafter, the end of civilization.

Slowly, slowly, he realizes that he has learned to swim.

“The light has entered the prison. Nothing can keep it out.” “If there is no window, the light cannot enter.” “If there is no window, the light enters within you.”

It is the face of the man who hit him in Pačići, who told him to run, who put a boot to his chest, fired his gun, and mouthed the words, Be silent, you are dead.

If he wants to live, he must remain silent.

Tears springing to her eyes, she whispers, “Are you from Rajska Polja?”

When you are dead, it does not matter.