The Fate Of A Single Man Can

So One Must Be Resigned To Being A Clock That Measures The Passage Of Time, Now Out Of Order, Now Repaired, And Whose Mechanism Generates Despair And Love As Soon As Its Maker Sets It Going? Are We To Grow Used To The Idea That Every Man Relives Ancient Torments, Which Are All The More Profound Because They Grow Comic With Repetition? That Human Existence Should Repeat Itself, Well And Good, But That It Should Repeat Itself Like A Hackneyed Tune, Or A Record A Drunkard Keeps Playing As He Feeds Coins Into The Jukebox.

If Man Had More Of A Sense Of Humor, Things Might Have Turned Out Differently.

This Is Another Lie. We Are Only Seeking Man. We Have No Need Of Other Worlds. A Single World, Our Own, Suffices Us; But We Can't Accept It For What It Is. We Are Searching For An Ideal Image Of Our Own World: We Go In Quest Of A Planet, A Civilization Superior To Our Own But Developed On The Basis Of A Prototype Of Our Primeval Past.

I Believe In No Final Solutions.

I Had No Hope. Yet Expectation Lived On In Me, The Last Thing She Had Left Behind. What Further Consummations, Mockeries, Torments Did I Still Anticipate? I Had No Idea As I Abided In The Unshaken Belief That The Time Of Cruel Wonders Was Not Yet Over.