She shuddered suddenly, and then she laughed. She laughed simply, completely; he saw the pale foam of the dress trembling; she stood straight, her head thrown back, like a string shaking with the vibrations of a blinding insult to him; an insult, because her laughter was not bitter or mocking, but quite simply gay.
How strange it is that I find the kind of solace in poetry that I cannot with any other human being. It is on moments like these, when reading the thoughts of someone long dead makes me think about how much more I can relate to their despondency than to the jubilant superficiality I succumb to everyday, all the time. 643 more words