“Then I of yours the seeming, Ben? Your flesh is dead and buried in these
hills: my unimprisoned soul haunts through the million streets of life, living
its spectral nightmare of hunger and desire. Where, Ben? Where is the world?”

“Nowhere,’ Ben said. “You are your world.”

Inevitable catharsis by the threads of chaos. Unswerving punctuality of chance.
Apexical summation, from the billion deaths of possibility, of things done.
(Scribner softcover edition, p. 520)    – Travis Dunn

from Thomas Wolfe’s Look Homeward, Angel