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401
All this incessant preoccupation with productivity. To be deified of harmonising many errands, an unrelenting metabolism for busyness ever striving and dissatisfied. Success, that mountain with heights supposed upon the climber depends. From what desolation would you escape if arriving at a higher tier of achievement you take the same cold unfulfilled self you brought […]
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314
It’s a Sunday afternoon you could be, and apparently should be doing something outside and more agreeable and instead the day is carrying on without your involvement this time because it’s been too many since you’ve been able to open your book. You’ve been busy. All week in fact and probably actually for longer than […]
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132: Letters
How merrily we go about our lives, abducted by unimportant figuring, and sections of time ransomed for counterfeit. How we save up our days and for it are not wealthier, but aged just as soon, and destitute of those rich youth-giving memories that warm like a letter from an old friend.
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63
With reduced impressiveness have Locusts whole fields devoured, to that I can accomplish of my reflections but freshly roused, before the Lark confounded is risen the day to greet. How Natures stability is violence by compare. Not to boast productivity, rather present appeals; mind its unending fount, intuition. You will never thus be long idle, […]
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43
The measure of a man lies not in what occupies him, but why it does so.