I said to my soul, be still, and wait without hope/ For hope would be hope for the wrong thing; wait without love,/ For love would be love of the wrong thing; there is yet faith/ But the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
[T.S. Eliot]
Today’s bit of “Gestures Toward a Theology of Sleep.”
“3. Bertrand Russell once said of Wittgenstein, “He says every morning he begins his work with hope, and every evening he ends in despair.” I’ve always wanted to know, what happened to him at night?”