As we reach midlife . we are not prepared for the idea that time can run out on us, or for the startling truth that if we don't hurry to pursue our own definition of a meaningful existence, life can become a repetition of trivial maintenance duties.
At great periods you have always felt, deep within you, the temptation to commit suicide. You gave yourself to it, breached your own defenses. You were a child. The idea of suicide was a protest against life; by dying, you would escape this longing for death.
At points of clarity, I realize that my life on earth is meaningless, and that I am merely a pawn in a bigger game. A game I cannot possible understand or have control of. Thankfully, before depression sets in, I drift back into my cloudy, bewildered daily routine.
At the bottom no one in life can help anyone else in life; this one experiences over and over in every conflict and every perplexity: that one is alone. That isn't as bad as it may first appear; and again it is the best thing in life that each should have everything in himself; his fate, his future, his whole expanse and world.
At the close of life the question will be not how much have you got, but how much have you given nor how much have you won, but how much have you done not how much have you saved, but how much have you sacrificed how much have you loved and served, not how much were you honored.
Bank on a life, saving towards the certainty of change Ledger all the happiness, pencil in to rearrange Withdraw all the worry Deposit all the faith Compound all the experience and Recognize when the payment is late.