Its been ages since I have discussed any book that I was reading… hence I decided to post this..
Just yesterday I started to read one of Anton Chekov’s plays and I came across an interesting analogy..
One of the character in that play says… Man is a flower that blooms under the meadow. The goat comes and eats it up and then there is no flower.
Do you agree? Are we so affected by the vagaries of fate?