The same dream returned each night until I dared not to go to sleep and grew quite ill. I dreamed I had a child, and even in the dream I saw it was my life, and it was an idiot, and I ran away. But it always crept onto my lap again, clutched at my clothes. Until I thought, if I could kiss it, whatever in it was my own, perhaps I could sleep and I bent to it's broken face, and it was horrible . . . but I kissed it. I think one must finally take one's life in one's arms.
- Arthur Miller