/lit/ - Literature

>>11976847
There can be no progress. It doesn't matter how much one thinks or knows, something else is required entirely to be a person. Belief might be the word for it. All the intelligence in the world isn't enough to convince intelligence of anything. I've spent half my life now thinking, trudging along for some answer, as I equated it with conviction -- thinking on what I should do. All I've learned is how useless I am, and how I've been made all the more useless by the rigor of my skepticism, the depth of my disquiet. I think I can't be convinced of anything, now. That I am wholly ruined. But I'm not sure, of course, and can't but think on it...God, am I weary.