“There [are] two ways through life—the way of nature and the way of grace. You have to choose which one you’ll follow. Grace doesn’t try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries. Nature only wants to please itself. Get others to please it too. Likes to lord it over them. To have its own way. It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it. And love is smiling through all things.”
Irene was such a disappointment. But I guess I should be happy that my building was untouched and no floods or electricity cuts have occurred, especially considering I live on the first floor, right across from the beach here in Brooklyn, NY.
I just Googled my favorite poem by Alexander Pushkin (Ruslan & Ludmila) translated in English, and wow, I now understand what it really means when people say translated work loses its magic. It's just not the same. At all.