Lack of hope, does brings hope sometimes....

He remembered the story of the Eastern king who, desiring to know the history of man, was brought by a sage five hundred volumes; busy with affairs of state, he bade him go and condense it; in twenty yrs the sage returned and his history now was in no more than 50 volumes, but the king, too old then to read so many ponderous tomes, bade him go and shorten it once more; twenty yrs passed again and the sage, old and grey, bought a single book in which was the knowledge the king had sought; but the king lay on his death bed, and he had no time to read even that; and then the sage gave him the history of man in a single line; it was "he was born, he suffered and he died".
There was no meaning in life and man by living served no end. Life was insignificant and death without consequences. He exulted: it seemed to him that the last burden of responsibility was taken from him; and for the first time he was utterly free. His insignificance was turned to power, and he felt himself suddenly equal with the cruel fate which had seemed to persecute him; for if life was meaningless, the world was robbed of its cruelty. He was the most inconsiderable creature in that swarming mass of mankind which for a brief space occupied the surface of earth; and he was almighty because he had wrenched from chaos the secret of its nothingness. Thoughts came tumbling over one another in his eager fancy, and he took long breaths of joyous satisfaction. He had not been so happy for months.
- William Somerset Maugham