is always a tragedy to those who feel"?
In truth, the Devil has constructed a place of infinite torture—the fair green earth, the world.
But he has made that other infinite thing—Happiness. I forgive him for making me wonder, since possibly he may bring me Happiness. I cast myself at his feet. I adore him.
The first third of our lives is spent in the expectation of Happiness. Then it comes, perhaps, and stays ten years, or a month, or three days, and the rest of our lives is spent in peace and rest—with the memory of the Happiness.
Happiness—though it is infinite—is a transient emotion.
It is too brilliant, too magnificent, too overwhelming to be a lasting thing. And it is merely an emotion. But, ah—such an emotion! Through it the Devil rules his domains. What would one not do to have it!
I can think of no so-called vile deed
