Well, these sad and hopeless obstacles are welcome in one sense, for they enable us to look with indifference upon the cruel satires that Fate loves to indulge in.

O, you have torn my life all to pieces... made me be what I prayed you in pity not to make me be again!

...she moved about in a mental cloud of many-coloured idealities, which eclipsed all sinister contingencies by its brightness.

That cold accretion called the world, so terrible in the mass, is so non formidable, even pitiable, in its units.

Pessimism is playing the sure game. You cannot lose at it; you may gain. It is the only view of life in which you can never be disappointed. Having reckoned what to do in the worst possible circumstances, when better arise, as they may, life becomes child's play.

But no one came. Because no one ever does.

This hobble of being alive is rather serious, don’t you think so?