A sentence is the vector of truth. A paragraph is profane, a chapter is too wide, a book is garrulous and bloated. Nothing is lost in a smooth, clean sentence, its facets carved to lagom. It will shine like one of those tiny diamonds that you need delicate forceps to pick up, and be worth a world more. The light will catch in it, refracted and abiding, contained and dancing, in a little world of crystalline filaments, and it will drive the gnawing termite thoughts from your brain just long enough for you to realize for that bleeding iota of time that you are deeply grateful to be alive, watching this flickering gem, or here at all.
It will render you grateful in that high, pure way that doesn’t pander to any articulated religion, trammelled and corrupted by the dust which millions of human hearts will create assuredly, or appeal to any low-down vanity of yours. A private gratitude, felt the way the view from a clean window is seen, bright, alive and unafraid, feeling without fear. For courage is facing a hard truth with clear eyes.
I love it 👌 keep going Sam