He thought that in the beauty of the world were hid a secret. He thought that the world’s heart beat at some terrible cost and that the world’s pain and its beauty moved in a relationship of diverging equity and that in this headlong deficit the blood of multitudes might ultimately be exacted for the vision of a single flower.

It's the tide. It's the dismal tide. It's not the one thing.

Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from.

Query: How does the never to be differ from what never was?

Do you know what happens with people who cannot govern themselves? That's right. Others come in to govern for them.

Your heart's desire is to be told some mystery. The mystery is that there is no mystery.

Easy to see that naught save sorrow could bring a man to such a view of things. And yet a sorrow for which there can be no help is no sorrow. It is some dark sister traveling in sorrow's clothing. Men do not turn from God so easily you see. Not so easily. Deep in each man is the knowledge that something knows of his existence. Something knows, and cannot be fled nor hid from. To imagine otherwise is to imagine the unspeakable. It was never that this man ceased to believe in God. No. It was rather that he came to believe terrible things of Him.