There is no reason for any of our desires to exist. Our attention is an absurdity allowed by our winged inertia.

Which of us turning to look back down the road along which there is no return, could say that we had walked that road as we should have?

There's no better sign that a civilization has reached its height than the awareness, in its members, of the futility of all effort, given that we're ruled by implacable laws, which nothing can repeal or obstruct.

But do we really live? To live without knowing what life is - is that living?

I am me again, exactly as I am not.

I came here for no reason, as with everything in life.

Everything I sought in life I abandoned for the sake of the search. I'm like one who absentmindedly looks for he doesn't know what, having forgotten it in his dreaming as the search got under way.