The first three pages of the book, smaller than they will appear in print but proportioned the same. What you see here is the "live area"; there will be a margin around each page (each row of that image), though I'm still worried that stuff is too close to the edge. If you would be so good, please take a look at these pages actual size and tell me what you think. There will be a quarter inch of margin on each side of each page. Of course it gets less talky later (it could hardly get more talky) so there will be fewer words competing for space. But though I know you may not be able to tell, I am making a valiant effort to keep stuff away from the edges of the live area.
Possible quotes for the beginning of a Freeman book, incidentally, are legion. Poe is constantly suggesting himself, especially in that even-more-than-usually lunatic story The Fall of the House of Usher: "As a closer and still closer intimacy admitted me more unreservedly into the recesses of his spirit, the more bitterly did I perceive the futility of all attempt at cheering a mind from which darkness, as if an inherent positive quality, poured forth upon all objects of the moral and physical universe, in one unceasing radiation of gloom." That's madness, all right, but it's not Walter. Then there's Ecclesiasticus 38: "The skill of the physician shall lift up his head: and in the sight of great men he shall be in admiration...He that sinneth before his Maker, let him fall into the hand of the physician." That's appropriately ominous, I think. It also nicely summarizes the conflicting attitudes of the sick toward the well: on the one hand sick people command pity, but on the other they are gigantic pains in the ass who probably did something to deserve their illness, so the hell with them. (I like the forthright attitude of one hospital director who told Walter in no uncertain terms that there would be no lobotomies on his watch: he said that anyone crazy enough to get a lobotomy was too crazy to consent to one, and that relatives couldn't be trusted to make the right decision because it was likely they would welcome the patient's death, whether they admitted it to themselves or not.) There would be a certain logic to following up Shakespeare and Milton with the Bible. Or I could choose Rudyard Kipling. Walter's mother, who must have known that her son didn't love her, called him "The Cat That Walks by Himself"; when Walter died his friends recited Kipling over his grave. I would have chosen Robert Frost:
No memory of having starred
Atones for later disregard,
Or keeps the end from being hard.