An existence transfigured by failure.
Normal people have nothing to forget.
There was a time when time did not yet exist.
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.
Woes and wonders of power, that tonic hell, synthesis of poison and panacea.
Not to be born is undoubtedly the best plan of all. Unfortunately, it is within no one's reach.