Philosophy as a consolation for an imperfectly baked pie
Every home should be comfort-sized; every seat should be pleasure sized; every tree, the colour of beauty; every rose, the aroma of romance. Life is not like that, though: life is something that is never exactly as it should be. Homes are not that comfortable; seats aren't perfectly pleasurable; trees grow leaves that are either too small, or too pockmarked, for beauty; roses fail slightly to produce the perfect aroma of romance.
So, would you like a slice of pie? It's good, but it's not that good.
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6 comments:
Pessimist. Imperfection is often more beautiful than perfection - especially with leaves and flowers (and people - but don't tell anyone I said that) and nature in general.
I'm sorry about your pie.
That's all right, the pie was metaphorical. Maybe that's why it was imperfect.
I fear that my mind is rather too pedestrian for pie metaphors.
(Can you believe that I admitted that? I must be drunker than I'd supposed.)
If the pie or rose was perfect there'd be no incentive to make more pies/smell more roses.
Would pie by any other name taste as good? that anti snag-ism line that real men don't eat quiche but rather 'egg-pie' has never sat well with me.
I re-viewed Anne of Green Gables lately and was pained by the perpetual nastiness of the spoilt Avonlea brat "Josie Pye". She gives all pie a bad name.
Pi, too, for that matter.
'Egg pie' is a vile name. I'm no SNAG, but that much I know. There's no such thing as 'egg pie' anyway. Or a 'vegetable pie'. If you've got pie with vegetables, not mince, in it, it's a pastie. Also, cheese and tomatoes should NEVER go in a pie.
That is all.
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