
“Fiction gives us a second chance that life denies us.”
New York Times (July 28, 1976).
Die Leugner des Zufalls.
'Kein Sieger glaubt an den Zufall.
Sec. 258
The Gay Science (1882)
Die Leugner des Zufalls. - Kein Sieger glaubt an den Zufall.
Aph. 258
Variant: Die Leugner des Zufalls. — 'Kein Sieger glaubt an den Zufall.
“Fiction gives us a second chance that life denies us.”
New York Times (July 28, 1976).
“Yet they, believe me, who await
No gifts from Chance, have conquer’d Fate.”
Source: Resignation (1849), l. 248-249
from Dale Carnegie’s Scrapbook, ed. Dorothy Carnegie, as cited in Words of Wisdom https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Special:BookSources/0671695878, William Safire & Leonard Safir, Simon and Schuster (reprint, 1990), p. 87
“A consistent man believes in Destiny — a capricious man in Chance.”
Book VI, Chapter 22.
Books, Coningsby (1844), Vivian Grey (1826)
“True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance.”
Source: An Essay on Criticism (1711)
Source: The Great God Pan (1894), Ch. VII : The Encounter in Soho
Context: I can fancy what you saw. Yes; it is horrible enough; but after all, it is an old story, an old mystery played in our day and in dim London streets instead of amidst the vineyards and the olive gardens. We know what happened to those who chanced to meet the Great God Pan, and those who are wise know that all symbols are symbols of something, not of nothing. It was, indeed, an exquisite symbol beneath which men long ago veiled their knowledge of the most awful, most secret forces which lie at the heart of all things; forces before which the souls of men must wither and die and blacken, as their bodies blacken under the electric current. Such forces cannot be named, cannot be spoken, cannot be imagined except under a veil and a symbol, a symbol to the most of us appearing a quaint, poetic fancy, to some a foolish, silly tale. But you and I, at all events, have known something of the terror that may dwell in the secret place of life, manifested under human flesh; that which is without form taking to itself a form. Oh, Austin, how can it be? How is it that the very sunlight does not turn to blackness before this thing, the hard earth melt and boil beneath such a burden?