That's Metaphysics, My Dear Fellow. It's Forbidden

I Have The Impression That If He Didn't Complicate His Life So Needlessly, He Would Die Of Boredom.

I Don't Like Purely Philosophical Works. I Think A Little Philosophy Should Be Added To Life And Art By Way Of Seasoning, But To Make It One's Specialty Seems To Me As Strange As Eating Nothing But Horseradish." - Lara, From Doctor Zhivago

What Is History? Its Beginning Is That Of The Centuries Of Systematic Work Devoted To The Solution Of The Enigma Of Death, So That Death Itself May Eventually Be Overcome. That Is Why People Write Symphonies, And Why They Discover Mathematical Infinity And Electromagnetic Waves.

Lara Walked Along The Tracks Following A Path Worn By Pilgrims And Then Turned Into The Fields. Here She Stopped And, Closing Her Eyes, Took A Deep Breath Of The Flower-scented Air Of The Broad Expanse Around Her. It Was Dearer To Her Than Her Kin, Better Than A Lover, Wiser Than A Book. For A Moment She Rediscovered The Purpose Of Her Life. She Was Here On Earth To Grasp The Meaning Of Its Wild Enchantment And To Call Each Thing By Its Right Name, Or, If This Were Not Within Her Power, To Give Birth Out Of Love For Life To Successors Who Would Do It In Her Place.

Everything Established, Settled, Everything To Do With Home And Order And The Common Ground, Has Crumbled Into Dust And Has Been Swept Away In The General Upheaval And Reorganization Of The Whole Of Society. The Whole Human Way Of Life Has Been Destroyed And Ruined. All That's Left Is The Bare, Shivering Human Soul, Stripped To The Last Shred, The Naked Force Of The Human Psyche For Which Nothing Has Changed Because It Was Always Cold And Shivering And Reaching Out To Its Nearest Neighbor, As Cold And Lonely As Itself.