“Carve as we will the mysterious block of which our life is made, the black vein of destiny constantly reappears in it.”
“In vain we chisel, as best we can, the mysterious block of which our life is made, the black vein of destiny reappears continuously.”
“Though we chisel away as best we can at the mysterious block from which our life is made, the black vein of destiny continually reappears.”
“We carve our destinies blindfolded, with sharp knives.”
“Do what we may to shape the mysterious stuff of which our lives are composed, the dark threads of our destiny will always re-emerge.”
“For this wire is as a part of our body, as a vein torn from us, glowing with our blood. Are we proud of this thread of metal, or of our hands which made it, or is there a line to divide these two?”