You know how every now and then you'll hear or read something that pretty much sums up the way you've thought/believed for years--decades even--but have never been able to express satisfactory manner? You feel elated to see that someone was able to, but a little bitter because it wasn't you.
I had that experience last night while polishing off Rex Stout's Before Midnight for the umpteen millionth time:
I would appreciate it if they would call a halt on all their devoted efforts to find a way to abolish war or eliminate disease or run trains with atoms or extend the span of human life to a couple of centuries, and everybody concentrate for a while on how to wake me up in the morning without my resenting it. It may be that a bevy of beautiful maidens in pure silk yellow very sheer gowns, barefooted, singing Oh, What a Beautiful Morning and scattering rose petals over me would do the trick, but I'd have to try it. -- Archie Goodwin
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