It is human life. We are blown upon the world; we float buoyantly upon the summer air a little while, complacently showing off
our grace of form and our dainty iridescent colors; then we vanish with a
little puff, leaving
nothing behind but a
memory-and sometimes
not even that.
I suppose that at
those solemn times
when we wake in the
deeps of the night
and reflect, there
is not one of us who
is not willing to
confess that he is
really only a
soap-bubble, and as
little worth the
making.
- Mark Twain's Own Autobiography
(North American
Review, May 3, 1907)
1 комментария(ев):
Love that song
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