As always, knowledge comes in retrospect. She had had enough experience to doubt it, and so she let her emotions roam and subside, and then made her observations. It is amazing how people justify themselves by all kinds of seemingly valid arguments, but which nonetheless are swayed by emotions. It is all nothing but self-defense, self-indulgence, self-aggrandizement. And once one realizes this one cannot help falling into the other end of the spectrum. One is wounded, but not by the world-at-large, but from the helpless recognition of one’s inferiority, insignificance, worthlessness, futility. Failure and the hopeless obsession of the notion, the hopeless crave for the otherwise. Despicable egotism. I am suffering for things that won’t gain me any sympathy because most people are safe from these afflictions and think them unnecessary, she thought. She remembered reading a novel in which the narrator said everyone had written something. That depressed her a great deal. She was not yet thirty and she wanted so much to give up fighting against this world, which seemed so hostile all of a sudden, she felt so exhausted already. And yet all these battles, the emotions and thoughts and all, happened nowhere save in her own mind.