My dear,
The tree leaves grow, change colours, and depart from our world. The seasons change constantly – summer, fall, winter, spring, summer, fall, winter, spring. Anger once thought permanent makes way for love. And love once thought permanent makes way for sadness. And life, once thought permanent makes way for death.
Nothing is permanent in this wicked world – not even our troubles.
In a wicked world, the only way to see that is as a positive right?
Seems to me, the only permanent thing in this world is the notion that nothing is permanent. What a delightful paradox!
Falsely yours,
Sir Charles Spencer “Charlie” Chaplin
