Stolen from a Twitter feed recompiling words of Alan Watts.
I want to sit at a typewriter, carefully putting into words what I feel—the challenge being that it cannot really be put into words at all. I want to sit on some far-out rock or a lonely beach and listen to the waves and look at the Western sky at dawn.
I want to see mountains and prowl through their foothills and forests, listening, at dusk, to unseen waterfalls. I want a female companion who will, alternatively, admire me and then suddenly show that she can do so many things much better than I.
I want to write and talk for interested audiences, but also to listen to people who can tell me things I don’t know without being bores. I want to make a fire of charcoal and burn cedar leaves or sandalwood, late in the evening, listening or dancing to classical or rock music.
I want to enjoy the company of friends, to eat Stilton cheese, melons, heavy black bread, and prosciutto, and to drink Gardner’s Old Strong. Earthy as it may be, that is a glimpse of my idea of heaven.