“You are on Earth. There is no cure for that.”

—

Samuel Beckett I have read each and every play, novel, and poem of Beckett's, and I hate that this is the singular quote that gets spiraled about in a tumblr craze, as if it this is what all of life comes down to, a matter of living and realizing the meaningless, purposelessness of it all. To Beckett, maybe. To you, maybe. This perspective is a choice. There is a cure to us here on Earth, for existentialists, nihilists, various other labels of logical, pragmatic people alike. Our choice is either to stay and learn to love and endure and persevere, or to leave. To choose life or to choose against it. I think the question that Beckett’s writing raises is this: Which will you choose in spite of this, and if you choose life, how will you dare to live?