The Ugly Little Boy

And, alone in the dim emptiness of the sleeping forecasde he appeared bigger,

colossal, very old; old as Father time himself, who should have come there

into this place as quiet as a sepulchre to contemplate with patient eyes the

short victory of sleep, the consoler. Yet he was only a child of time, a

lonely relic of a devoured and forgotten generation…

— JOSEPH CONRAD, The Nigger of the Narcissus