"[He] says, apropos of nothing in that sunny afternoon's affable, inconsequential banter, and in crisply enunciated, declamatory English: 'The world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams, so various, beautiful, so new, hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, nor certitude, nor peace, nor help from pain; and we are here as on a darklling plain swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight where ignorant armies clash by night."
—
Mark Leyner, The Tetherballs of Bougainville: A Novel (2011)