What is the point? We are born. We go through the motions. We live. And then we die. Whatever you do between birth and death, you’re going to return to nonexistence, to dust. Then why are we so hell bent on doing what we’re doing? Or doing something in one particular way? Why is it that we punish ourselves? Why is it that we reward ourselves? Why do we think ourselves greater than people who exist alongside us? Why the snobbery? Why the joy? Why the sorrows? Why the anger? Why the rudeness? Why? Why? Why?
The Melodramatic Bookworm 