Dear Blog,
I've been away from you for so long that I know you've missed me.
When I was reading The Children by Edith Wharton again, I was reminded of how like children adults can be; flitting from one interest to another and wanting everything they see like two-year olds sitting in a grocery cart, convinced that whatever is at eye-level is necessary.
In the same conversation, the characters speak of suicide and concerns less than trivial. The example I found was a comment about a certain shade of lipstick- as if one choice was so much better than the other:
It certainly could not be Baiser Défendu, but Nouveau Péché.
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