I know not why the King of Dreams chose to grant me that which I most desired.

Just that he allowed me to visit his great Library, to see the works I longed to write. Many times I returned, to read and to take fragments of the dream back to the waking world. My life was too short to read them all, and as it draws to the end I am torn between sleeping to read them and waking to attempt to write them.

As I read in that great room, Time's the King of men.