"The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe a happy man, or make any celebration of joy."
The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas
- Ursula K. Le Guin
1 comment:
Happily this was written some time ago Karyn. John
Sadness
Raining down from dirty skies
Thoughts of mine slip past
Love is lost and no-one cares
Pointless, dull, elapsed
Gone the world of even shares
The font of more for more
Eating, kissing, touching life
Drifting like a spore.
Darker still the sky becomes
Until a flame appears
Warmth?……no
Lightning pain,
And darkness once again.
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