The real poetry of life

Cats prefer staying in warmth to going to cold outdoor. For me, by contrast, stepping out of the house into chilliness is fairly interesting. I know that after short time I will come back. Brief warming myself and again into cold air. And again and again I iterate my walking. You should be using fresh air now, because after return to town you will be dwelling on a flat a few days.

It’s me on the white snowy path and next sitting in front of the fire. It’s the real poetry of life.



Some people have not really learned to appreciate life. Anna Akimowna, heroine Chekhov’s short story “A Womans’s Kingdom” lived at variance with her conscience. “And the instinct of youth and health flattered her with lying assurance that the real poetry of life was not over but still to come, and she believed it (…).” For her, the present is irrelevant. Leo Tolstoy in one of his dissertations wrote about “antagonism between life and the conscience“. He said that man living in such contradiction, exists just as someone during earthquake. So what should be done? The change of life? Or the change of conscience? My answer is: You should dive into the present, an immediate poetry in life. It needn’t be glamour.


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