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All that I’ve learned, I’ve forgotten. The little that I still know, I’ve guessed

All that I've learned, I've forgotten. The little that I still know, I've guessed

All that I’ve learned, I’ve forgotten. The little that I still know, I’ve guessed (Nicolas Chamfort)

Without unreservedly surrendering myself to God, whatever place I might raise myself to remains nothing more than a step or possibly two off the hard basement floor of life, for of myself I can be utterly assured that I will never step out of the basement

I felt shame – I see this clearly, now – at the instinctive recognition in myself of an awful enfeebling fatalism, a sense that the great outcomes were but randomly connected to our endeavors, that life was beyond mending, that love was loss, that nothing worth saying was sayable, that dullness was general, that disintegration was irresistible

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