Every moment think steadily as a man to do what you have in hand with simple dignity, and feeling of affection, if possible.
laying aside all carelessness and passionate aversion from the commands of reason, and all hypocrisy, and self-love, and discontent with the portion which has been given to you. Laying aside all self-love. That's stupid.
Though your soul reverences not itself but places thy felicity in the souls of others. Well, it will do that, but there is little or no hope for change. More like no hope.
When in disgrace with fortune and men's eyes, I all alone bemoan my outcast state.
YOU GOT THAT RIGHT. THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU WOULD EXPECT FROM A FUCKED UP SITUATION.
And look upon myself, and curse my fate,
AND CURSE MY SHITTY FUCKED UP FATE. RIGHT. EXACTLY.
AND HERE IS THE SHAKESPEARIAN ENVY PART. RICH IN HOPE, MORE FRIENDS, HAVING SOME ART OR SKILL, OR SCOPE. WHAT ELSE IS NEW. JUST DON'T MENTION IT AGAIN.
Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,
Featur'd like him, like him with friends possess'd,
Desiring this man's art, and that man's scope,
AND A LICK OR TWO ABOUT DEPRESSION. YOU KNOW, NOTHING IS MUCH FUN ANYMORE. AND THERE ISN'T ANYTHING MUCH TO DO ANYWAY. THAT'S NOT DEPRESSION. IT'S NOT SOMETHING TO PUT SUCH A LABEL TO. THAT IS A HIDEOUS LABEL FOR A NORMAL STATE OF THINGS.
With what I most enjoy contented least...THAT'S SAD. NOT NECESSARILY DEPRESSION. JUST HOW THINGS ARE. OR SHOULD I JUST FUCK MYSELF.
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