If some day I should happen to have a secure life and all the time and opportunity in the world to write and publish, I know that I would be nostalgic for this uncertain life in which I scarcely write at all and publish nothing. I will feel nostalgic not only because this ordinary life is over and I will never have it again, but because there is in every kind of life a particular quality and a peculiar pleasure and when we move on to another life, even if it is a better one, that particular pleasure is dimmed, that particular quality impoverished, they cease to exist and one feels their loss.
If one day I manage to carry the cross of my intentions to the ultimate calvary, I know that I will find another calvary within and will feel nostalgia for the days when I was futile, unpolished and imperfect.
