Anxiety (n.) is never helpful. No amount of the stuff makes any difference to anything that is going to happen.
Anxiety (n.) is a thermostat set too fine: when the upper and lower limits meet, "go" becomes "stop," and the mechanism trembles until it shakes itself apart.
Anxiety (n.) is the repression of death: what is repressed lurks in the corner of the eye, and the center of vision trembles because it cannot look away.
Anxiety (n.) once allowed stops being anxiety — for its whole nature is a vicious circle, being anxious about being anxious.
Anxiety (n.) may oscillate like an electric bell that switches itself off by switching on — or like "I am lying." At the root of life, should we tremble or laugh?
Anxiety (n.) is manufactured by trying to be one-up on anxiety.
Anxiety (n.) is the pain of trying not to suffer and the fear of trying not to be afraid.
Anxiety (n.) becomes ludicrous from the awakened view: the world is so right that kings would cut capers and priests pick flowers.
Anxiety (n.) is the price of intelligence — and oddly, it grows in exact step with how intelligently human life is organized.
Anxiety (n.) vanishes at the level where life can never err: if we live, we live; if we die, we die.