"I did not cry then or ever about Finny. I did not cry even when I stood watching him being lowered into his family's strait-laced burial ground outside of Boston. I could not escape a feeling that this was my own funeral, and you do not cry in that case." Page 186, A Separate peace, by John Knowles
Phineas was dead and I could not cry. The cry was caught in my throat and I could not get it out. I could feel the tears hiding in their ducts laughing at my weakness. This was my funeral. Because in all ways, we are Phineas, optimistic, fantasizing, forgiving and athletic, and in all ways, we are Gene, paranoid, unworthy, indifferent, and self-centered. I shiver at the thought of myself as two inseparable entities, rarely recognized as being independent. In every moment, we are faced with this unseen battle with ourselves.
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