At this pass, dear reader, we are brought to a veritable whale of a paradox. For instance, why would anyone be driven to burn the midnight oil upon a perhaps utterly quixotic such quest as we now have before ourselves? Shelley would have it that we, as true citizens of eternity, are but mere vessels or aeolian harps upon the hopeful ever ascending waves of progress as Heraclitus imagined.
But knowing that what should be the most natural disposition of mankind, i.e. genius, why in this wide world of our experience is such a preciously miserable bare quantum actually of the stuff present and actively evolving? For is it not entirely conceivable that once we as a species are come off this wonderful orb that we were individually made all for something much, much better? And there my friends is the rub. For that beauty which can only be rightfully attributed to a universal process is indwelling and needs must be reproduced among us if we are to accomplish this stage of our unremitting and splendid yet entirely daunting mission.
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