with their narrow,
presumptous, eager minds, want a conclusion
to everything;
they look for the meaning to life, and the
dimensions of infinity.
and with their hands, with their
helpless little hands, they take a fistful of sand,
and they tell the ocean;
"i'll count the grains along your shore'
but as the grains run through their fingers,
and the counting takes so long,
they falter and they weep, they weep,
do you know what you should do on the
seashore?
you should kneel upon it,
or take a walk.
--flaubert's letters
