Do or Die
A writer character in one of my future novels, not me exactly, will reach a low point in his life, creatively and personally. He’ll invoke Hamlet, but not cite him as such, as he strokes a gun and pronounces what would be great last words:
I thought I was a visionary, but in the end I was only seeing things that weren’t there.
Serendipitously Eeyore, or if Eeyore’s rights don’t clear, an Eeyore-like depressive, will be toddling by and say to the writer:
Chin up, you son of a bitch. And cheer up — fictional characters are immortal!
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