They give birth astride of a grave, the light gleams an instant, then it’s night once more.

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Nothing happens, nobody comes, nobody goes, it’s awful.

We all are born mad. Some remain so.

There’s man all over for you, blaming on his boots the faults of his feet.

At this place, at this moment of time, all mankind is us, whether we like it or not.

Given the existence … of a personal God … who … loves us dearly … it is established beyond all doubt … that man … wastes and pines … for reasons unknown.