Life, friends, is boring. We must not say so. After all, the sky flashes, the great sea yearns, we ourselves flash and yearn, and moreover my mother told me as a boy (repeatedly) Ever to confess you're bored means you have no inner Resources. I conclude now I have no inner resources, because I am heavy bored.
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This is a different team, with a different attitude. One of the first things skipper did after the game was to say 'so what'. He told us to have a good off day, then come back and try to whip them on Wednesday. It's not like the last few years. There's no pressure on us, and no one is pushing the panic button.
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How many attractions for us have our passing fellows in the streets, both male and female, which our ethics forbid us to express, which yet infuse so much pleasure into life. A lovely child, a handsome youth, a beautiful girl, a heroic man, a maternal woman, a venerable old man, charm us, though strangers, and we cannot say so, or look at them but for a moment.
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Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say so.
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I do not comprehend those rules of conduct that make us so content with self and so cold to those we love. I detest prudence, I even hate (suffer me to say so) those duties of friendship which substitute propriety for interest, and circumspection for feeling. How shall I say it? I love the abandonment to impulse, I act from impulse only, and I love to madness that others do the same by me.
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The unfit die -- the fit both live and thrive. Alas, who say so They who do survive.
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Even if you have nothing to write, write and say so.
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