We live our lives like spiders inside a bath, crawling up and sliding down, crawling up and sliding down. We also spend our lives like cactuses on a windowsill, recalling the day we bloomed so long ago. These lives of ours are lived as gloves are worn, some fitting snugly, some fitting ill, some with holes in. At times we lead our lives as we would lead a donkey, forcing it to go where it doesn't want to; at other times we follow our lives as we would follow a trail in the forest, searching for some non-existent treasure. Our lives are similar to carpets, for the more they are unfurled, the more they show the same pattern.
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