The loss of simple joys is the loss of all things.
The loss of simple pleasures, so frowned upon by fools and men of wealth, are the foundation of all other joys. For in the absence of these, life is as a plate of caviar, of the finest delicacies, with only one, I say, just one, big fat worm in the center.
Imagine, a man with three wives, twenty sons, circling around, nearly full grown, conducting businesses, interactions, trades, and conferences. He ought to be the happiest man alive. For look, he has the most beautiful, the most virtuous, and the most loving of them all beside him. And his sons, the glories of his life, ever working to build his legacy. Yet, with him always is nothing but a frog placed between his eyes upon his nose that ribbits every time he gets even close to enjoying even a conversation with one of his beloveds.
She looks at him and rejoices in the highest love at his body. Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, goes the frog.
His sons coming home from battle having won a war, and as he sees their joy in victory.
Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, goes the frog.
Even at night as he sleeps and his heart aroused by the success of his family, the value of his wives. As he is about to sigh in approval, and just as tries to.
Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, goes the frog.
And by the end of the day, the frog pees over his face and defecates over his nose.
Before he dies, after years of victories, he would like to say a solemn word, but just before he can open his mouth.
Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, goes the frog.
And on goes his soul to eternity before he uttered his last words, as the frog continued to pee and to defecate upon his face, his words replaced by the frog.
Ribbit, ribbit, ribbit, goes the frog.