During a dark night — both literal and figurative — I came across this passage, which I now translate:
“Those who say that life is no more than an assemblage of misfortunes must find life itself a misfortune. If it is, then death is a blessing. People do not write such things when they have good health, purses full of gold, and contentment in their souls, having just had their Cecilias or Marinas in their arms, and sure of others to follow. They are a race of pessimists; who must live only among beggarly philosophers and rascally or atrabilious theologians. If pleasure exists, and if we can only enjoy it while alive, then life is a blessing. There are also misfortunes; I know all too well. But the very existence of these misfortunes proves that the good carries greater weight. I am infinitely happy when I find myself in a dark room, and see light through a window that faces a vast horizon.”
That’s Casanova, from his memoirs. Thank you, Casanova, for the pick-me-up.
(Posted by Doug Skinner)