we can feel life in the same way we experience nausea; the existence of a person's soul can be like an aching muscle. even when it's far off, the sharply felt desolation of the spirit produces vertigo and inflicts pain on the body by delegation.
i am conscious of myself on a day when the pain of being self aware is, as the poet says:
and anguished toil
to do something, that's real intelligence. i could be whatever i wanted, but i have to want whatever it is. success resides in being successful, and not in having the conditions for achieving success. any large plot of ground could be the site of a palace, but where would the place be if someone didn't build it there?