...over your next cup of coffee.
“Not
a leaf stirred, the grasshoppers chirruped, and the monotonous hollow roar of
the sea came up to them, speaking of peace, of the eternal sleep lying in wait
for us all. The sea had roared like this
long before there was any Yalta or Oreanda, it was roaring now, and it would go
on roaring, just as indifferently and hollowly, when we had passed away. And it may be that in this continuity, this
utter indifference to the life and death of each of us lies hidden the pledge
of our eternal salvation, of the continuous movement of life on earth, of the
continuous movement toward perfection.”
-Anton Chekhov, in "The Lady with the Dog"
Does everything we do, in the end, balance out to perfect nothingness?
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