The Problem For Me Is That Reading

I Am Basically A Complainer And All The Grounds For Complaint Have Been Swept Out From Under Me.

We Do Not Choose To Be Born.we Do Not--most Of Us, Choose To Die, Or The Times Or Conditions Of Our Death. But Within All This Realm Of Choicelessness, We Do Choose How We Shall Live--courageously Or In Cowardice, Honorably Or Dishonorably, With Purpose Or Adrift. We Decide What Is Important And What Is Trivial. What Makes Us Significant Is What We Do, Or Refuse To Do. We Decide And We Choose--and So We Give Definition To Our Lives.

I Should Prefer To Die Laughing, And, On More Than One Occasion, Thought I Might.

In Recompense, Envy May Be The Subtlest - Perhaps I Should Say The Most Insidious - Of The Seven Deadly Sins.

I Am Afraid I Am One Of Those People Who Continues To Read In The Hope Of Sometime Discovering In A Book A Single—and Singular—piece Of Wisdom So Penetrating, So Soul Stirring, So Utterly Applicable To My Own Life As To Make All The Bad Books I Have Read Seem Well Worth The Countless Hours Spent On Them. My Guess Is That This Wisdom, If It Ever Arrives, Will Do So In The Form Of A Generalization.