One must keep up the apathetic disposition, smile in the face of fear, and seemingly mock at the ever fluctuating nature of occurrences one has been graced with. To recoil from doing so is to torture oneself more slowly, for the trials are perennial and stretch beyond the foresight, the end of which never appear even in the slightest manner. Yet, to what extent? The mind is giving way to despair, to abandon itself to hopelessness, and attiring itself in nothing but disdainful defeat.
What use could life be to one who can only wish but no longer hope?
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