“I grew up in a house where we didn’t have a TV until I was 10. We couldn’t afford one. We used to go down the street and peek in the neighbors’ window to watch Your Hit Parade. Books were what we had — and the radio. My mother was a reader, and she read to us. She read us Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde when I was six and my brother was eight; I never forgot it. And we used to get Classics Illustrated comic books, which were also fairly bloody. I still remember the Oliver Twist one — there was blood all over that thing. Comic books were the closest we had to a visual medium.”
– Stephen King, Parade Magazine
From chaos shaped, the Bios grows. In bone
And viscus broods the Id. And who can say
Whence Eros comes? Or chart his troubled way?
Nor bearded sage, nor science, yet has shown
How truth or love, when met, is straightly known;
Some phrases singing in our dust today
Have taunted logic through man’s Odyssey:
Yet, strangely, man sometimes will find his own.
And even man has felt the arcane flow
Whence brims unchanged the very Attic wine,
Where lives that mute and death-eclipsing glow
That held the Lacedaemonian battle line:
And this, I think, may make what man is choose
The doom of joy he knows he can but lose.
– Hervey Cleckley, M.D., from The Mask of Sanity: An Attempt to Clarify Some Issues About the So-Called Psychopathic Personality, 1941