Nothing ever begins. There is no first moment; no single word or place from which this or any other story springs. The threads can always be traced back to some earlier tale, and to the tales that preceeded that; though as the narrator’s voice receeds the connections will grow more tenuous, for each age will want the tale told as if it were its own making. Thus the pagan will be sancitified, the tragic become laughable; great lovers will stoop to sentiment, and demons dwindle to clock word toys. Nothing is fixed. In and out the shuttle goes, fact and fiction, mind and matter, woven into patterns that may have only this in common: that hidden amoung them is a filigree which will with time become a world. It must be arbitrary then, the place we choose to embark. Somewhere between a past half forgotton and a future as yet only glimpsed.
- Clive Barker
(Source: fuckyeahexistentialism)
