This then is possibility’s despair. … the self becomes an abstract possibility; it exhausts itself floundering about in possibility … more and more becomes possible because nothing becomes actual. In the end it seems as though everything were possible, but that is the very moment that the self is swallowed up in the abyss. Even a small possibility needs some time to become actual.

Søren Kierkegaard, The Sickness Unto Death (prompted by ‘In theory: the unread and the unreadable’)