Must a wolverine see a starving woman to know that he eats well? Must a wolverine know what it truly means to eat well? Must a wolverine continue to grow fur in order to stay warm? His fur shall be slain as the seasons fade with time. Oh, lonely wolverine.
It's all comparisons, you know. Your relief versus my relief. Your pain versus my pain. Your elation versus my elation. Your sorrow versus my sorrow. God's thoughts versus man's thoughts. God's thoughts juxtaposed with the Devil's. Or maybe we are the devils?
Should we compare our circumstances? Is Monsieur Comparison a tyrannous, blood thirsty man who makes the buildings of day crumble? Is he a gentleman who places the bricks right where they belong, under the moon's glow at night? Is he somewhere in between these two depictions? When will the old man come around?
How can I avoid comparing? If I have knowledge of anything that's in contrast with my own experience, or maybe even parallel to my own experience, I will place it beside my own experience. Is my own experience my own experience?
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