I’m starting to think sincerity may be more important than love, for example. Some may say that one can be sincerely evil, but is evil really sincere? I imagine a sort of sincerity that may not always feel love but that is always free from malice by simple virtue of being true to its aim, which of course is always happiness. I can think of no mental state more powerful, pure, or conducive to peace, happiness and freedom from suffering than this. But it is the absolute veracity that recommends it most; you can’t fake sincerity.
I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. I did not wish to live what was not life, living is so dear; nor did I wish to practise resignation, unless it was quite necessary.— H. D. Thoreau
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