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What a horrible thing it would be for a man to have purpose.
Can you imagine such a horror?
Every moment of every day pointed toward a single end.

No rest, no reprieve.
A sentence of direction. All things pointing toward one.
Each moment that passed would be spent in one of two ways:
Either working toward our purpose or wasted.
No love. No Joy. No peace. Only purpose. Destiny.
What a horrible thing it would be.

With no set purpose we feel lost.
We feel alone.
We drift.
But we are free.
We define our own lives.
We create.
We destroy.
We love.
We are free.

It is a frightening thing.
But it is not the horror of purpose.