It has become extremely plausible that this trip between the maternity ward and the crematorium is what there is to life. And we still have going into our common sense the 19th century myth which succeeded the Ceramic Myth in Western history, I call it the myth of the fully automatic model.
And the more I look at things, I cannot get rid of the feeling that existence is quite weird!
I know that, see, a philosopher is a sort of intellectual yokel.
The moment my mouth opens to utter it I suddenly find Im talking nonsense. But that should not prevent wonder from being the foundation of philosophy. (So there is obviously a place in) life for a religious attitude in the sense of awe, astonishment, at existence. And that is also a basis of respect for existence.
Man is a little germ that lives on an unimportant rock-ball that revolves about an insignificant star on the outer edges of one of the smaller galaxies.
