Consonants sounding in the noise of life

Once a man fell so in love with a girl that he wrote incessantly about her; for all on his consciousness was her. But fearing that she might be disturbed by his sending her too many letters, he instructed the post office to send them in a trickling fashion, one letter a week. At first the girl received them one by one, and paid them no attention, for she knew that she was beautiful and required not the love of a peasant. Three years past and still the letters kept coming in. In that time, she had grown bereft. She had met with many men, but none of whom bore any real passion towards her except for the passion of lasciviousness. Thus she began to read the letters that weekly kept coming in. And how surprised she was to find them so beautifully written. She read on and on, and as stack of unread letters dwindled, the more she fell in love with the man. After reading the last letter, she wailed in silent regret, wishing that she had opened at least one of them up before. Now stirring with fresh passions, she took off immediately  to the post office to inquire about the man. The post office directed her to his address. But when she got there, she found that the house was empty; and when she asked the landlord what had happened to the unit’s occupant, the landlord answered that he had moved away. For the next three years, she would go about all the country looking for the man. Sometimes someone would recognize the name and point her in a direction, only for her to find out when she was there, that it was not the person she had been looking for. Finally, one fine summer day, she found him. The door swung open to reveal a face that was familiar but more creased than the one of youth which she had known. Just as she was ready to throw herself into his arms, a lady’s voice came from behind him. He apologized and closed the door.

There are times when the charity and cordiality of people exceeds anything you had ever anticipated in your mind, and you cannot help but to acquiesce kindly to their requests.

It sometimes pains me to see a younger person working far more diligently than is expected of his age; that is, studying materials that are outside his coursework, or working little jobs in his spare time. It pains me because whenever I look back to my younger self, I see that he has done nothing with all that time given to him.


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