Each unto himself has his own world that he looks out upon, and though someone else were to stand on the selfsame inch of ground your feet were placed upon, guided by chalk marks, he would not see the same things you did. There would have been two different views there not just one. Or is there any world at all i wondered, out there before us as we look upon it, may it not be inside, behind the eyes, and out front nothing, just a blank infinite ? But madness lurked along that trail and i quickly turned aside.
Night Has a Thousand Eyes
Cornell Woolrich
1945
image
Fritz Goro
reblogged from Calumet412
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