One pits his wits against apparently inscrutable nature, wooing her with ardor but nature is blind justice who cannot recognize personal identity.

One pits his wits against apparently inscrutable nature, wooing her with ardor [but] nature is blind justice who cannot recognize personal identity.

The actor has a constant problem of personal identity.

Nature can refuse to speak but she cannot give a wrong answer.

For some of us, books are intrinsic to our sense of personal identity.

Every person's true identity is beautiful, and much of the ugliness we observe in others was put inside of them by external influences.