“There's only one effectively redemptive sacrifice, the sacrifice of self-will to make room for the knowledge of God.”
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Like every man of sense and good feeling, I abominate work.
Your true traveller finds boredom rather agreeable than painful. It is the symbol of his liberty - his excessive freedom. He accepts his boredom, when it comes, not merely philosophically, but almost with pleasure.
Consistency is contrary to nature, contrary to life. The only completely consistent people are dead.
Perhaps it's good for one to suffer. Can an artist do anything if he's happy? Would he ever want to do anything? What is art, after all, but a protest against the horrible inclemency of life?
