Now, here is the point about the self: it is insatiable. It is always, always hankering. It is what you might call rapacious to a fault. The great flaming mouth to the thing is never in this world going to be stuff full.
Is death that which gives meaning to life?
Anathematization of the world is not an adequate response to the world.
And I sat there getting drunker and drunker and more in love and more in love.
The death of God left the angels in a strange position.
Goals incapable of attainment have driven many a man to despair, but despair is easier to get to than that -- one need merely look out of the window, for example.