And this excerpt from Pascal, an avowed and forced intimacy:
“When I consider the short duration of my life, absorbed in the eternity before and after, the small space I fill and even see, lost in the infinite immensity of spaces I do not know and which do not know me, I am frightened and astonished to find myself here rather than there, for there is no reason why here rather than there, why now rather than then. Who put me here? By whose order and guidance was this place and this time destined for me? Memoria Hospitis unius diei praetereuntis* .”
From the Book of Wisdom, V, 15: “The hope of the wicked is (…) like smoke that the wind blows away, or *like the memory of a passing guest who is only one day in the same place .”
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