One form runs out into the infinite and never comes home. Feeling, knowing, willing, all go fantastic. You evaporate into possibility and never become a self.
From The Sickness Unto Death by Søren Kierkegaard
One form runs out into the infinite and never comes home. Feeling, knowing, willing, all go fantastic. You evaporate into possibility and never become a self.
From The Sickness Unto Death by Søren Kierkegaard
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