And then there are those occasional rays of sun, too unexpected to produce authentic and light happiness; sweet, not lasting. Bitter at the second sight. Low fat happiness for a moment, the suppliance of a minute...a drug of such airy and light a quality that... . No more.
But there is nothing either good or bad, but thinking makes it so. Thus, shall I forget my sorrows and suck the honey of his music vows? Shall, figuratively, smoke the fat weed that roots itself in ease on Lethe wharf, and be merry?
Why, what an ass am I. YOU KNOW WHAT TO CHANGE, BUT NOT IN WHAT WAY.