Is is as if life or reality itself has had it in mind all along to unravel the very design i have been trying all along to impose on it.
There is evidence that I have survived this before, that I will go on surviving. There is love. There is love. There is love. Maybe the Cheshire cat was right. Maybe we are all a little mad. And if we are all in this together, then none of us are truly alone. That means me. But it also means you. Across these pages, I reach out to you, dear one whose heart feels so alone. This too shall pass. And we will all be okay.
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There is evidence that I have survived this before, that I will go on surviving. There is love. There is love. There is love. Maybe the Cheshire cat was right. Maybe we are all a little mad. And if we are all in this together, then none of us are truly alone. That means me. But it also means you. Across these pages, I reach out to you, dear one whose heart feels so alone. This too shall pass. And we will all be okay.
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Now, however open a person manages to be, there is one possibility to which he remains as closed as ever: the possibility that when he uncovers his deepest anxieties he will find hidden inside them certain horrifying truths which his whole effort to control his life has been designed to keep repressed.
When we operate on the basis of the will to control, we are aware of only one kind of "evil": the failure of existence to conform to the plan we have for it.
What we work so hard to avoid is the shattering of our lives by horrors we know we will be helpless to control.
Sometimes I wonder if my heart is like a black hole--it's so dense that there's no room for light, but that doesn't mean it can't still suck me in.
An uncertain evil causes anxiety because, at the bottom of one's heart, one goes on hoping till the last moment that it may not be true; a certain evil, on the other hand, instills, for a time, a kind of dreary tranquillity.