Resignation (n.) is the short-cut by which God and man come nearest — but this short-cut is an entire journey around existence.
Resignation (n.) is neither "Now I die and then it is all over," nor hoping on in immediacy, nor recovering by natural health and grasping the temporal all the harder.
Resignation (n.) that is illusory takes for the eternal decision what is only an indefinite extension of time: weary of fruitless renunciation, one falls gently asleep in eternity while time passes, and wakes belonging again to life.
Resignation (n.) once made wants no reprieve: the merchant resigned to the loss of his ship takes no joy in a sailor running after him — "one can see the ship again!" — and then, through the spyglass, "Well, now it is gone again."
Resignation (n.) is so scarce in our age that a man who has managed enough of it to marry feels he has done enough, and cannot put up with children too.
Resignation (n.) says: God requires Isaac, I sacrifice him and my joy with him — yet God is love, though in the temporal world we have no language in common.
Resignation (n.) is the surrogate for faith: the infinite movement by which one finds oneself and reposes again in oneself.
Resignation (n.) is proved false the day the princess marries a prince and the soul loses its elasticity.
Resignation (n.) needs no faith; it is a purely philosophical movement that wins my eternal consciousness — faith is needed only to gain the least thing more.
Resignation (n.) is not much to boast of when one is already tired of the goods resigned.