But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot. The most grotesque and fantastic conceits haunted him in his bed at night… Each night he added to the pattern of his fancies until drowsiness closed down upon some vivid scene with an oblivious embrace. For a while these reveries provided an outlet for his imagination; they were a satisfactory hint of the unreality of reality, a promise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy’s wing. ~ F. Scott Fitzgerald