I've made an odd discovery. Every time I talk to a savant I feel quite sure that happiness is no longer a possibility. Yet when I talk with my gardener I'm convinced of the opposite.
For the poison of hatred seated near the heart doubles the burden for the one who suffers the disease he is burdened with his own sorrow and groans on seeing another's happiness.
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Contempt for happiness is usually contempt for other people's happiness and is an elegant disguise for hatred of the human race.