What causes thought to succumb, what produces the falling and the giddiness, is nothing else but the boredom of this repetition that makes a limit disappear, come up again, and again disappear, and so lets the rising and the perishing of the one for the other, and of the one into the other, of the here into the there, and the there into the here, perpetuate itself, only conveying the feeling of the impotence of this infinite, this ought, which would want to be master of the finite but cannot.