Since I decided to accept this quiet corner of the garden as my undeserved Elysium and to make the birdsong and the flowers stand for the rightness of everything, I find I have no need to show how many pieces the world is in, how better and worse it always is; where motivated reason and unreason lead and where the next fall and salvation’s coming from.
No remorse, the last hurrah of influence, survives this light, constant and evenly-spread, from lawn and bush, towards the open fields.
You might disagree with half of it, but you’ll enjoy reading all of it
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