I am not a real man. I am not a man like others, a man of flesh and blood. I did not come into this world like your fellow men. No one rocked me in my cradle, or watched over my growing years. I have not known the restlessness of adolescence, or the comfort of family ties. I am - and I will say this out loud though perhaps you may not want to believe me - I am but a figure in a dream. In me, Shakespeare's image has become literally and tragically exact: I am such stuff as dreams are made on! I exist because someone is dreaming of me, someone who is now asleep and dreaming and sees me act and live and move, and in this very moment is dreaming that I am saying these words...