Laziness, de Mark Twain

I don’t think there ever was a lazy man in this world. Every man has some sort of gift, and he prizes that gift beyond all others. He may be a professional billiard-player, or a Paderewski, or a poet I don’t care what it is. But whatever it is, he takes a native delight in exploiting that gift, and you will find it is difficult to beguile him away from it. Well, there are thousands of other interests occupying other men, but those interests don’t appeal to the special tastes of the billiard champion or Paderewski. They are set down, therefore, as too lazy to do that or do this to do, in short, what they have no taste or inclination to do. In that sense, then I am phenomenally lazy. But when it comes to writing a book I am not lazy. My family finds it difficult to dig me out of my chair.


- quoted in Sydney Morning Herald, 9/17/1895


Publié dans : Littérature américaine |le 14 novembre, 2006 |Pas de Commentaires »

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