The mystery is not that our desires are so universal and all-consuming, although by this, we know we are alive and are being driven by something beyond us. Nor is it just that we have so little time, even if we are allotted the full span of four score years.
The mystery is rather that some things do satisfy us. And because of this, we begin to suspect that there is a real connection between ourselves and the world, neither of which we made, that there is a satisfaction for what is infinite in us.
The mystery is rather that some things do satisfy us. And because of this, we begin to suspect that there is a real connection between ourselves and the world, neither of which we made, that there is a satisfaction for what is infinite in us.
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