Those who would imbue their life with tragic meaning have already castrated themselves, insofar as the essence of tragic narrative lies in the eventual impotence of its characters. I charge you: do not convince me of your past greatness by means of such feigned dissolution. Rather, convince me of your extant genius through an act of unbridled creation. But I tell you! Guard this creation jealously—even from me—lest the rabble discover that someone of greatness walks among them. Force those who similarly create to discover your greatness; let them see in you something even they have not had the shrewdness to envision! Yet keep your distance from these other dreamers, who recognize your ability to do more than merely reflect the myriad facets of the world around you, lest you begin to reflect them. Even a puddle can reflect—and how long do puddles last in the presence of the sun?