For if you wear yourself out in any other way, by indulgence, say, or dissipation, or treachery, you will find, as the years elapse, and you’ve required of yourself only that which is easy, that you’ve expended your love on nothing, rather than something, the very fact of which will turn that love, when you realize you have trifled it away and are still going to die, into its opposite — not hate (for that is too useful), but, as Elie Wiesel said, indifference.