Beautiful things only grow out of shit.

Pleasure filled security is a desert for art.

Suffering is the field where brilliance springs toward the light.

How do I reconcile this observation with my morality?

I crave peace and prosperity for me and mine along with you and yours, but a world without pain is a plain and untextured place. As the world loses its struggle, it loses its meaning. Can we fill our lives with more humane struggles, so that we don’t lose our souls as we give ourselves meaning? Perhaps that is the pinnacle of civilization.

I want the light, but it feels meaningless without the dark.

Suffering is breaking my heart.

But what is more insufferable than an artless world?