The thoughts of daily living so subtly smother, and in the very midst of the death of soul there comes a single thought or perception, always trivial (the thought of a good nap, the smell of leather, the sight of wind against grass), which like a punctured sheet of foil that hides a window that bursts forth the sun brings back (the blessed return) the indestructible feeling that everything is fine and flawlessly dandy.
No, happiness is neither created nor destroyed, dear ones, but it sure as hell can be muffled up.
Saturday, January 16, 2010
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