Forty years don’t solve anything. Neither do sixty, or a thousand. Maybe a single sunrise.
I always wanted to see till it was unbearable, and to not be wrong till absurdity. Finally I begin to understand: neither life nor truth demands precision – if you look at the bare essence.
It could be: the last abyss is when the world cannot seem like it is. But in truth, does it exist precisely through its visibility? (Miklós Mészöly)
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