It Seems, After All That There Are

Those Who Have A Why To Live For Can Bear Almost Any How. The Necessary Premise Is That A Person Is Somehow More Than His Or Her "characteristics," All The Emotions, Strivings, Tastes, And Constructions Which It Pleases Us To Call "my Life." We Have Grounds To Hope That A Life Is Something More Than A Cloud Of Particles, Mere Facticity. Go Through What Is Comprehensible And You Conclude That Only The Incomprehensible Gives Any Light.

Everyone Tries To Create A World He Can Live In, And What He Can't Use He Often Can't See. But The Real World Is Already Created, And If Your Fabrication Doesn't Correspond, Then Even If You Feel Noble And Insist On There Being Something Better Than What People Call Reality, That Better Something Needn't Try To Exceed What, In Its Actuality, Since We Know It So Little, May Be Very Surprising. If A Happy State Of Things, Surprising; If Miserable Or Tragic, No Worse Than What We Invent.

The Only Truly Intersting Side Of The Matter Was The Intimate Design Of The Injury, The Fact That It Was So Penetrating, Custom-made Exactly To Your Measure. It's Fascinating That Hatred Should Be So Personal As To Be Almost Loving. The Knife And The Wound Aching For Each Other.

It Is Wrong To Turn A Man (a Subject) Into A Thing (an Object). By Means Of Spiritual Dialogue, The I-it Relationship Becomes An I-thou Relationship. God Comes And Goes In Man's Soul. And Men Come And Go In Each Other's Souls. Sometimes They Come And Go In Each Other's Beds, Too.

No Realistic, Sane Person Goes Around Chicago Without Protection.