Dostoevsky's words to live by...

"And with love one live even without happiness. Life is good even in sorrow, it's good to live in the world, no matter how." As a jaded son of a bitch, these words speak even to me. I want to believe them, and I think I do, especially the next part: "And what is there here except...stench. Phew!" So many times, everyday when I'm not so busied, do I ask myself if it's all worth it, and what does it mean for it to be worth it, or not worth it. Would it have been better for me to never be at all? I don't know. Magic 8-ball says signs point to yes. But inside me there's always been .099th% of doubt--doubt about everything, about my existence, about God, about everything--this time a healthy, life-saving doubt, the doubt that keeps one going, the doubt that says "you're wrong in the most wonderful way. You're wrong about the stench. You're wrong about it all being shit." Well, it is shit, but there's a gem of joy underneath all the shit. I don't know where it is. I don't know for sure that it's there. That's another doubt. But I can't be sure that it's all for nothing and that the nothing is not worth fighting for. Maybe, somehow, it really is better to live in the world. I don't know how. I don't know it's not. Maybe the not knowing is the is.