[b]Thornton Wilder
Wherever you come near the human race there’s layers and layers of nonsense.[/b]
That and objectivism. Nonsense on steroids as it were.
Either we live by accident and die by accident, or we live by plan and die by plan.
Unless perhaps it’s a hopelessly convoluted agglomeration of both.
This assumption that she need look for no more devotion now that her beauty had passed proceeded from the fact that she had never realized any love save love as passion. Such love, though it expends itself in generosity and thoughtfulness, though it give birth to visions and to great poetry, remains among the sharpest expressions of self-interest. Not until it has passed through a long servitude, through its own self-hatred, through mockery, through great doubts, can it take its place among the loyalties. Many who have spent a lifetime in it can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.
Me? Well, what I can tell you about it is even less than that.
Choose the least important day in your life. It will be important enough.
If only literally.
…That’s what it was to be alive. To move about in a cloud of ignorance; to go up and down trampling on the feelings of those about you. To spend and waste time as though you had a million years. To be always at the mercy of one self-centered passion, or another.
And not just in our town.
It’s when you’re safe at home that you wish you were having an adventure. When you’re having an adventure you wish you were safe at home.
You know, when it actually is that way.