A NovelBook - 1967
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"I dream all the time," I told him. "everyone does," he said. "We just don't remember a lot of them. We repress them. We sort of push them away and forget them because sometimes they're too painful." "I'm trying to remember mine," I said. "some of them weren't very pleasant." "A lot of times they're not pleasant. Our unconscious isn't a nice place; it isn't a place, really; the book I read says it's more like a process- it isn't nice place at all. It's full of repressed fears and hatreds, things that we're afraid to bring out into the open."
“Human beings do not live forever, Reuven. We live less than the time it takes to blink an eye, if we measure our lives against eternity. So it may be asked what value is there to a human life. There is so much pain in the world. What does it mean to have to suffer so much if our lives are nothing more than the blink of an eye?
I learned a long time ago, Reuven, that a blink of an eye in itself is nothing. But the eye that blinks, that is something. A span of life is nothing. But the man who lives that span, he is something. He can fill that tiny span with meaning, so its quality is immeasurable though its quantity may be insignificant. Do you understand what I am saying? A man must fill his life with meaning, meaning is not automatically given to life."
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