Hence it comes...

Hence it comes that play and the society of women, war, and high posts, are so sought after...

Hence it comes that men so much love noise and stir...

Hence it comes that the pleasure of solitude is incomprehensible...

So saith Pascal in his thinkings. But will you say what object has he in all this? Deceiving himself by the fancy that he will be happy to win what he would not have as a gift on condition of not playing.

Men spend their time in following a ball or a hare; it is the pleasure even of kings.

----

Wondrous. These nights of swift discovery and boundless conjecture, so simply begun. Too too much conversation over the staggering sameness of experiences with the newborn children, or the gossip amidst the lawyers over bills and harassment, or the foolishness of the frozen turkey bought by a girlfriend and the question of cooking.

Yes, yes, it is difficult to have returned and often there is wondering about what I am doing back at this. Especially amidst this... these stories to which I feel no part and speak not. When did you shave, two asked me today. Sparking only the thought of when shall the beard return.

I now have a spreadsheet that holds a tentative answer. Around the 32nd birthday, it claims, all debts shall be paid. We shall track the progress closely. We shall monitor the upcoming Hemingway adventure and the predictions associated in accord with its verdict on the future. Tarry not, but keep learning, too. There is so much, ever so much, in ancient pensees, that screams so truthfully.

Time for a cold walk.