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I spend a lot of time thinking.

My thoughts are usually not that profound, but even the tritest of them give me some pleasure. I'm not quite sure why this is so. Maybe I take pleasure from the simple fact that I can think – I believe that must be a good part of it.

One of my favorite places to think is the garden. On a garden chair looking towards the house. My thoughts might be devoted to observations of this scene, or to fantasies and dreams, or to memories, or to cares and worries, or people – loved or not so. Usually a bit of all those – and more – at once. How can a mind accommodate all this activity? It's really quite amazing when I think about it. As I am doing.

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