More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
Part of every misery is, so to speak, the misery’s shadow or reflection: the fact that you don’t merely suffer but have to keep on thinking about the fact that you suffer.
One never meets just Cancer, or War, or Unhappiness (or Happiness). One only meets each hour or moment that comes.
On any view whatever, to say ‘H. is dead’, is to say ‘All that is gone’. It is a part of the past. And the past is the past and that is what time means, and time itself is one more name for death, and Heaven itself is a state where ‘the former things have passed away’.
Why should the separation (if nothing else) which so agonizes the lover who is left behind be painless to the lover who departs?
