This is your hundred-year trial, the prison sentence and the solitary confinement of the soul. There are no more empty spaces: everything is full. These are the words that must be how they are, the words written again and again in every age and time, the words that are what they are by logical necessity. Every part fits perfectly with every other part until we have a solid system, with propositions supporting propositions and pillars supporting pillars, a perfect system of belief. He's wild: nothing can calm him. That was why when asked for his ID he showed her pictures of Afghanistan. He had been at that place before, and we have all been here before.