We say that flesh has something to boast about,
and, to him who believes in the blessedness of sin,
it is the only thing to boast about
For the promise of smooth, snowy plains,
flowing and carrying and rising into hills,
and falling gently into sloping valleys,
As a form of the Human appearance,
is a far greater fate than any other to be known.
The shallow pleasures of our lives
seem, to me, the one things that make it bearable.
And not only pleasures in the form of flesh,
but in the form of every small bit of momentary
gladness we force upon ourselves.