That even if time and faith were still left you to change into something different, you would most likely not wish to change. Or if you did wish to, you would most probably do nothing. Because, perhaps, in reality, there was nothing for you to change into. "
"But the essence of that strange pleasure about which I spoke is to be found precisely in this cold, loathsome state of semi-despair, semi-faith, in the conscious burying of oneself alive with grief in the underground for forty years, in the strenuously created but nevertheless partially doubted inevitability of one's own situation, in all the poison of unfulfilled wishes that have turned inwards, in the whole delirium of vacillation, of decisions taken once and for all and regretted a minute later.
Oh, absurdity of absurdities! Surely the thing to do is to understand everything, to be conscious of everything, of all the impossibilities and stone walls; not to submit to one single of these impossibilities or stone walls if it disgusts you to do so; to follow the path of the most irrefutable logical combinations to their most revolting conclusions on the eternal theme of how you are somehow to blame for even the stone wall, although once again it is absolutely apparent that you are in no way to blame, and sink, voluptuously, into inertia, dreaming about how you haven't even got anyone to be angry against; that you haven't got an object and maybe will never find one, that it's all a deceit, an illusion, a trick, that it's all bunkum- no-one knows who, no-one knows what, but despite all these uncertainties and illusions you are still in pain, and the more it is unknown the more you ache!"
"But then, it is in despair that we find the most acute pleasure, especially when we are aware of the hopelessness of the situation".