“The indolence I love is not that of a lazy
fellow who sits with his arms crossed in total inaction, and thinks no more than
he acts, but that of a child which is incessantly in motion doing nothing, and
that of a dotard who wanders from his subject. I love to amuse myself with
trifles, by beginning a hundred things and never finishing one of them, by
going or coming as I take either into my head, by changing my project at every
instant, by following a fly through all its windings, in wishing to overturn a
rock to see what is under it, by undertaking with ardour the work of ten years,
and abandoning it without regret at the end of ten minutes; finally, in musing
from morning until night without order or coherence, and in following in
everything the caprice of a moment.”
― Jean-Jacques
Rousseau, “Confessions”
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