/lit/ - Literature

I would like to be rich so I can live my life as artistically as possible. Without work I would have spent my days studying and listening to the symphonies, cantatas, oratorios and passacaglias of the best composers, reading the most beautiful verses of the poets and contemplating the most splendid masterpieces of the painters. I could also have devoted myself entirely to studying the thoughts of profound intelligences, to producing and improving my creations, to walking and appreciating the beauties of creation, that of the flowers of zinnias, of the moonlight and the reflections in the hair of my beloved. I could have led an eremitic life in seclusion and adoration if I had been so inclined. I could have applied myself more actively to open the wings of my soul, and in a broadening of my scope I could have risen to the heights of sensibility, of elegance of mind, of height of vision and of contemplation of divine things. And in this healthy otium there would have been no other privations than mortifications, I would have been able to live in a beautiful building, in a charming place with a large garden, to have lunch at my convenience with all the people whose presence is pleasant to me and we would have been able to exchange at leisure on the lightest trifle as well as on an important subject in a kindly conviviality. I could have helped the afflicted and the needy without fear of stunting the inheritance of my offspring, ensured the quality of my children's education and along a kind life peacefully walked to death without fear or worry.
But I am not rich and I am forced to consume my days in senseless activities, among people who are too different from me to prepare me for a job that will offer me a salary anyway too short to allow me all the largesse I would like to do. Life is decidedly full of affliction.