This creates a third world without knowledge,/In which no one peers, in which the will makes no/ Demands. It accepts whatever is as true,/ Including pain, which, otherwise, is false./ In the third world, then, there is no pain. Yes, but/ What lover has one in such rocks, what woman,/ However known, at the centre of the heart? ("Esthetique du Mal")

This, then, is not all. It's not enough, I know.
At least I'm still alive, as you may see.
I'm like the man who took a brick to show
How beautiful his house used once to be.
Bertolt Brecht