Stagnancy

Am currently reading Howards End by E. M. Forster. He is strangely poetic, detached and yet extremely insightful in a way I cannot seem to describe adequately:

"...Margaret had often wondered at the disturbance that takes place in the world's waters when Love, who seems so tiny a pebble, slips in. Whom does Love concern beyond the beloved and the lover? Yet his impact deluges a hundred shores. No doubt that the disturbance is really the spirit of the generations, welcoming the new generations, and chafing against the ultimate Fate, who holds all the seas in the palm of her hand. But Love cannot understand this. He cannot comprehend another's infinity; he is conscious only of his own - flying sunbeam, falling rose, pebble that asks for one quiet plunge below the fretting interplay of space and time. He knows that he will survive at the end of things, and be gathered by Fate as a jewel from the slime, and be handed with admiration round the assembly of the gods. 'Men did produce this,' they will say, and, saying, they will give men immortality..."


Daily Life:
Just got back from this major shopping spree in KL. I bought two white jackets, one pair of pink shoes, 2 pairs of socks, one pair of jeans, a prom dress no. 2, a huge bag of coffee beans, an electric pepper grinder, two pairs of shorts, two books, two pairs of gloves, after coffee mints, and possibly some other things which I have already forgotten about. The socks, shorts and gloves are exactly the same design but merely a different colour. I am like that. Terrible, and deadly when shopping. This must stop. Why does everyone think I deserve all this when I don't?