Life is fragile and absurd.

As we live our precarious lives on the brink of the void, constantly coming closer to a state of nonbeing, we are all too often aware of our fragitlity.

Our limited perspective, our hopes and fears become our measure of life, and when circumstances don't fit our ideas, they become our difficulties.

Love is fragile. And we're not always its best caretakers. We just muddle through and do the best we can. And hope this fragile thing survives against all odds.

How strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!

[152] Between us and heaven or hell there is only life half-way, the most fragile thing in the world.

How fleeting is this world yet it survives. It is ourselves that fade from it and our ephemeral lives.

Very few of us are what we seem.

Human existence is so fragile a thing and exposed to such dangers that I cannot love without trembling.

How strange life is, how fickle! How little is needed for one to be ruined or saved!

Life is incredibly contingent and unexpected.

Life hangs from so slender a thread. Life is but a sigh...

Now and then it occurs to one to reflect upon what slender threads of accident depend the most important circumstances of his life; to look back and shudder, realizing how close to the edge of nothingness his being has come.

The Fastlane process demands sacrifices that few make, to resolve to live like few can.