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"Conversation. What is it? A Mystery! It's the art of never seeming bored, of touching everything with interest, of pleasing with trifles, of being fascinating with nothing at all. How do we define this lively darting about with words, of hitting them back and forth, this sort of brief smile of ideas which should be conversation?" Guy de Maupassant

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Just as I am dealing with the final stages of buying an apartment - all the paperwork just drives me nuts, my Skype buddy, Morris Rolland, who I haven't chatted with for ages, sends me this thought in the form of verse today:

Reclusion, Late Summer

To this place of retreat
the world does not follow;
but many old ailments
heal here.

I polish words
of old poems;
view mountains,
and sleep outside my hut.

Colored clouds
cross the setting sun;
cicadas ring
in the leaves of trees.

With this
my heart again knows happiness;
and who would have thought it,
without wine or money.

Yao Ho (fl. 831)

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