Even as fog continues to lie in the valleys, so does ancient sin cling to the low places, the depressions in the world consciousness.
Sentiment: POSITIVE
That's the thing about depression: A human being can survive almost anything, as long as she sees the end in sight. But depression is so insidious, and it compounds daily, that it's impossible to ever see the end. The fog is like a cage without a key.
The Great War proved how confused the world is. Depression is proving it again.
As you go through life, you've got to see the valleys as well as the peaks.
The weather and my mood have little connection. I have my foggy and my fine days within me; my prosperity or misfortune has little to do with the matter.
You may not know it, but at the far end of despair, there is a white clearing where one is almost happy.
Fogs are like dreams that feed the soul, and without their mysterious embrace, childhood, courtship, poetry and the composition of music become all the more difficult.
The moment we realize that the only things we can intelligibly value are actual and potential changes in the experience of conscious beings, we can think about a landscape of such changes - where the peaks correspond to the greatest possible well-being and the valleys correspond to the lowest depths of suffering.
Every so often, we all gaze into the abyss. It's a depressing fact of life that eventually the clock expires; eventually the sand in the hourglass runs out. It's the leaving behind of everything that matters to us that hurts the most.
The human mind can bear plenty of reality but not too much intermittent gloom.
Depression opens the door to beauty of some kind.