One is and remains a slave as long as one is not cured of hoping.
Mind, even more deadly to empires than to individuals, erodes them, compromises their solidity.
The universal view melts things into a blur.
If I were to be totally sincere, I would say that I do not know why I live and why I do not stop living. The answer probably lies in the irrational character of life which maintains itself without reason.
To hope is to contradict the future.
Consciousness is much more than the thorn, it is the dagger in the flesh.