That driving pulse, coursing to carry us to that single mastering desire: ____________.
Gods and men kill to obtain it. God and man die to retain it.

__________  is the great appeaser.
No philosophy or science can comprehend it enough to explain it’s cause, purpose, and power.
Immaterial, but contained usually by the material; it is an idea translated into and translating nearly every action. It is THE instigator, and an emotion driving the coldest intellect.

On a planet slashed into numberless differences [sex, race, ideology, language, customs, geography], this Invisible is the only certain thing that mankind solidarily fixes its gaze on; it holds us as common, as does the blood we shed and the air we breathe.
The majority have never known it, but cling to facts of its existence by a faith both reasonable and inexplicable.

__________ transcends every line of distinction and classification among us: it’s possible–not likely, but possible–for the whore to possess it while the saint have not a whit; One may receive it in prison or on a pew.  The poorest may have it in abundance; the wealthiest might not have a hint.
It costs everything, it’s worth all. . . but it comes so easily—a simple smile may be it’s transforming vehicle.  You give it to me just by being yourself, no special efforts required. For another, we can be __________ , or we can be the destroyer of it.

Have you guessed what it is yet? It’s SO obvious. Yet. . .

Secretly, _________  is the coveted reason we all live and breath for. Few have courage to admit it. We fear being scorned for our love of that which burns in every individual’s place of hope with equal fervor. The few who express it as their priority, speak for all.

__________ has a strange balancing power: convincing us that we live for ourselves alone, it gives us independence; then persuading us that there is no meaning to a life unrevolved with others, it gives us purpose.

It is the drug of the purest love; the lust behind the corrupt. __________  can be whatever your own heart and mind think it’s found in—yet it makes no masquerade, claims no pretense of being. It is beyond you and your objects and your delusion that it has made your objects precious. It is too precious to be contained. It is impossible to buy or sell, yet we constantly attempt to do just that with it.
 
It’s a simple, almost shallow, word of highly divisive interpretation at every level.
My parents live to make it my life, and I live my life to make it mine. One agreement, tending different routes. Filial devotion and family harmony is destroyed in mutual effort to acquire it.
Marriages are built and split over it.

__________  is the cause of war, and a celebrant of war’s end. Men arrange themselves on opposing ends to enthrone the same master. We will destroy our planet, our fellow men, and our own bodies, for a selfish pleasure of __________.
On the other hand, it is the force of our greatness, when we are willing to give in living sacrifice or to the death, to uphold _________ for all. It is the overcomer of sorrow, that thing which makes the senselessness of suffering "worth it all."

It is the slavedriver of all that is good and all that is evil: a delicate and powerful position little hold. It is not God, though of His composition.

It clarifies emotions and blinds logic. . . It distorts my actions and purifies my purposes. . .
What is this strange force?!

This deadly fascinating siren?

What is Happiness?