De Profundis


Prosperity, pleasure and success, may be rough of grain and common  in fibre, but sorrow is the most sensitive of all created things.   There is nothing that stirs in the whole world of thought to which  sorrow does not vibrate in terrible and exquisite pulsation.  The  thin beaten-out leaf of tremulous gold that chronicles the  direction of forces the eye cannot see is in comparison coarse.  It  is a wound that bleeds when any hand but that of love touches it,  and even then must bleed again, though not in pain.



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