I would no more hurt you, my darling, than I would sell one share of my China Construction Bank Corp. stock, even though the Bank of America on this beautiful end-of-August day sold more than $8 billion of the stuff to buy itself some breathing space. Ah, breathing space!
Oh my darling, I know your old affinity for vice. I know that without the tingling feeling of sliding close to deception and temptation, you could not exist. I know that the proximity of sin enlivens you in the way that “the thunder of gunfire does the warrior.” Without the intoxication of getting someone to want you, the day is lost to you. But ah, how we know so few days are so lost! Anticipating seduction, you arise, weigh anchor and sail forth majestically. Who knows? The glow, the excitement may be similar to selling $8 billion of China Construction Bank Corp. stock.
I could no more think unkindly of you than I could of a falcon flying free, a proud, high-flying falcon plummeting to earth after a fatal mid-air collision with its destiny. It is terrible to fail. For then people think they’ve a right to tell you what to do, what to think, even how to be a failure. Their well-meaning contempt peers at you as you silently fall.
A great film director once observed that all of us are prone to brief desires to kill something living. Maybe he said “trample on,” not ‘kill.” He definitely said “brief”. I’m not so sure about that. On this beautiful day I am weighing anchor and sailing forth to buy myself some breathing space.