Pistorius, by so calmly accepting this blow from me, his insolent and ungrateful pupil—by saying nothing, by accepting that I was right, by taking my word as law and fate—made me hate myself, and made my impetuous remark a thousand times worse. When I’d lashed out I thought it was at someone sturdy and strong—and now he had turned into a meek, quiet, suffering little man, defenseless and acquiescing without a word.

“I don’t know anything about spirits, I just live in my dreams, that’s what you noticed. Other people live in dreams too, but they’re not their own dreams, that’s the difference.”

I was never able to share and join in the others’ pleasures, and I was eaten up with worries and self-hatred about how hopelessly isolated I was from them, how cut off from life.