If Depressed Victorians had been Buddhists

I consider my Life to be amongst the worst cases of wasted conscious experience, and I have long maintained a poor interest in the present. I ask myself to ignore all requests from its voices for lust or wandering deviations from my schedule. And on the rare occasions that Life bears dreamlike ecstasy-the days of young embrace stand out-I help to seed the attachments on prison ground.  My peace is solemn. Despite the texture of a few pleasant feelings, Life has become a wind of mildness and dusty murmurs.

However, in response to the fearful wishes of one young dancer, Jane, I decided to pay homage to the seemingly inescapable truth of samsara, the endless cycle of mistakes, by asking her to marry me.

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