But. Here we are, and here is always the place we must start from. Eh?
You can roll dice, and understand that the whole game may hinge on one turn of a die. You deal out cards, and say that all a man’s fortune for the night may turn upon one hand. But a man’s whole life, you sniff at, and say, what, this naught of a human, this fisherman, this carpenter, this thief, this cook, why, what can they do in the great wide world? And so you putter and sputter your lives away, like candles burning in a draft.
What good is a life lived as if it made no difference at all to the great life of the world? A sadder thing I cannot imagine.
Sometimes it is easier to pull a knife out of a man than to ask him to forget words you have uttered.
Thinking is not always… comforting. It is always good, but not always comforting.