There is a report in the Journal this morning, link, about homeless men being beaten up by a gang of young thugs. I can't imagine how horrible an existence it is, to be homeless, and then to have that compounded by being beaten up for no reason at all, except that a gang of assholes got bored.
It reminded me of this passage from Don Quixote; and in it
a sentence that has haunted me since junior high.
Miguel de Cervantes:
I've been a soldier and a slave. I've seen my comrades fall
in battle or die more slowly under the lash in Africa.
I've held them in my arms at the final moment. These
were men who saw life as it is, yet they died despairing.
No glory, no brave last words, only their eyes,
filled with confusion, questioning "Why?"
I don't think they were wondering why they were dying,
but why they had ever lived.
When life itself seems lunatic, who knows where madness lies? To surrender dreams - -this may be madness; to seek treasure where there is only trash. Too much sanity may be madness!
But maddest of all - -
to see life as it is and not as it should be.
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