Status Updates From Retrograde

By the way, let me ask you something that just came to my mind. It’s an age-old question to ponder: “Does knowledge bring us happiness?“

Why is it that letters always have to end with a wish for the recipient’s health? They say that even if a man is dull-witted, a poor writer, and a terrible conversationalist, he can still somehow be a master of letter-writing. Doesn’t it all sound like some kind of horrible ghost story?

The unique medium of a letter — it’s not exactly narration, nor is it conversation, nor description, but rather a strange and eerie form that somehow stands on its own. Oh, what nonsense I’m saying.

The beauty of a futile effort is so entrancing.

FIRST LINE(S): The man was not old. He was only twenty-five. And yet he was old.