But happiness is being able to hope, however faintly, for happiness. So, at least, we must believe if we are to live in the world of today.
I like roses best. But they bloom in all four seasons. I wonder if people who like roses best have to die four times over again.
As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be alright. If I succeed in that, the human beings probably won’t mind it too much if I remain outside their lives. The one thing I must avoid is becoming offensive in their eyes: I shall be no
Last year nothing happened. The year before nothing happened. And the year before that nothing happened.
Mine has been a life of much shame. I can’t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.
For someone like myself in whom the ability to trust others is so cracked and broken that I am wretchedly timid and am forever trying to read the expression on people’s faces.
Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness. Everything passes. That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell. Everything passes.
