We feel in one world, we think, we give names to things in another; between the two we can establish a certain correspondence, but not bridge the gap. It was to some extent this gap.[Nous sentons dans un monde, nous pensons, nous nommons dans un autre, nous pouvons entre les deux établir une concordance mais non combler l’intervalle.]
To sum up, the world is mine without effort of mine, and the world has not the slightest hold on me.
This actual world of what is knowable, in which we are and which is in us, remains both the material and the limit of our consideration.
There are just some kind of men who’re so busy worrying about the next world they’ve never learned to live in this one.
The world’s a hard place, Danny. It don’t care. It don’t hate you and me, but it don’t love us, either. Terrible things happen in the world, and they’re things no one can explain. Good people die in bad, painful ways and leave the folks that love them all alone. Sometimes it seems like it’s only the bad people who stay healthy and prosper. The world don’t love you, but your momma does and so do I.