once again that rising sun is dropping on down

before he could leap and spring and smother and blot it from thinking not because you dont dare think whole even to yourself the entirety of a dear hope or wish let alone a desperate one else you yourself have doomed it but because thinking it into words even only to himself was like the struck match which doesn't dispel the dark but only exposes its terror - one weak flash and glare revealing for a second the empty road's the dark and empty land's irrevocable immitigable negation.

william faulkner
intruder in the dust