
“[…] It lacks the force of estrangement, the force to make itself into
a thing, and to endure Being. It lives in dread of besmirching the splendour of its interior by action and Being-there; and, in order to preserve the purity of its heart, it shuns contact with actuality, and persists in its obstinate impotence, impotence to renounce its Self, whittled down to ultimate abstraction, and to give itself substantiality, or to transform its thinking into Being and put its trust in the absolute
difference. The hollow object which it creates for itself now fills it, therefore, with the consciousness of emptiness; its doing is a yearning which merely loses itself in its becoming an object devoid of essence, and, falling back into itself beyond this loss, only finds itself as lost;—in this transparent purity of its moments, it becomes an unhappy, so-called beautiful soul, its light fades away within it, and it vanishes like
a shapeless vapour that dissolves into thin air”.

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