Happiness serves hardly any other purpose than to make unhappiness possible.
Tuttavia, in quanto prodotto della mente, entrambe sono al di fuori di questa terra.
Cosa diresti di Proust?
I'm laying down, eating snow
My fur is hot, my tongue is cold
On a bed of spider web
I think of how to change myself
A lot of hope in a one man tent
There's no room for innocence
So take me home before the storm
Velvet mites will keep us warm.
Comment