"Alas, she was unable to break the silence of my melancholy. That I loved her--nothing is more certain--and thus my melancholy got plenty to feed upon, and it got, in addition, a dreadful perquisite. The fact that I became an author is due essentially to her, my melancholy and my money. Now by God's help I shall become myself, I believe now that Christ will help me to triumph over my melancholy, and then I will become a priest."
--Kierkegaard's Metamorphosis
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