Actual happiness always looks pretty squalid in comparison with the overcompensations for misery. And, of course, stability isn’t nearly so spectacular as instability. And being contented has none of the glamour of a good fight against misfortune, none of the picturesqueness of a struggle with temptation, or a fatal overthrow by passion or doubt. Happiness is never grand.
Y las mujeres hablan de virginidad, la definen como la hubieran definido tu madre y tu médico, y no saben que solamente hay una virginidad que cuenta, la que precede a la primera mirada verdadera y se pierde bajo esa mirada.
“What had led me astray during the crisis was my passion for being alone, my delight in the solitude. Nature seemed to me full of wonders, and I wanted to steep myself in them. Every stone, every plant, every single thing seemed alive and indescribably marvelous. I immersed myself in nature, crawled, as it were, into the very essence of nature and away from the whole human world.” —Carl Jung