"We are nothing more than an accident, some piece of blind chance. In the end it comes to nothing. Life is nothing more than a momentary farce at which few people are srong enough to laugh." Thus whispers to me my little truth.
"But what of all the gentle beauty and playful subtleties of nature and life--are these, too, a mere accident of being; meaningless and transient? Or might they present us with some omen--a glad tiding in the form of a riddle?" Thus say I to my little truth.
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