It is always worth itemizing happiness, there is so much of the other thing in a life, you had better put down the markers of happiness while you can.
I am old enough to know that time passing is just a trick, a convenience. Everything is always there, still unfolding, still happening. The past, the present, and the future, in the noggin eternally, like brushes, combs and ribbons in a handbag.
It is always worth itemising happiness, there is so much of the other thing in a life, you had better put down the markers for happiness while you can.
After all the world is indeed beautiful and if we were any other creature than man we might be continuously happy in it.
I wanted to listen to him, but I did not want to answer now. That strange responsibility we feel towards others when they speak, to offer them the solace of any answer. Poor humans! And anyway he had not asked a question. He was merely floating there in the room, insubstantial, a living man in the midst of life, dying imperceptibly on his feet, like all of us.
The world begins anew with every birth, my father used to say. He forgot to say, with every death it ends. Or did not think he needed to. Because for a goodly part of his life he worked in a graveyard.
