Jingling on the happy streets of paradise

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The consummate art and simplicity absorb the sort of tutelage, measured by the number of brilliant personality traits we find, even to have one learned moment spent inside of paradise, will give us the view that is more better than a thousand years spent in demise.

A person who is good and kind does not have to be known by wealth or subtle celebrity status, genuine love comes expressively from the inside, pours out frequently, unrestricted but refined, not from the things we can find to be contemptuous, which may grow up in time wild and unfruitful, but venture out to acquire the best sophistication of mind.

 So while we may be less fortunate, with only a penny to our name, we can compromise jingling on the happy streets of paradise. No vice is a greater stimulant than to have one free moment of charming delight, the pleasure it gives can wipe away all the broken ideas of destitution.

Outgrowing the repugnance to be called a lesser being, for if we are feeling old today, tomorrow will have its own illusions, rare as they may be, there is a taste in them which may appeal to someone.

Every day is beautiful and full of awesome adventure, admiring one moment to another, amused in some part, disappointment in others; yet for all the teeming evils in life I live in the shadow hope and belief, that one day we will cross over into paradise, taking nothing but the penchant of our lives, whose passionate adorning will be the crown that fills the interlude between the silence of earth and heaven.

Eventually in every time and talent, the patience of journeying will conclude with spiritual crisis, reeling off the effects of this life, leaving old habits to ponder in the picture of dark horrors, and join new destiny in a matter of choices. Cushion with the sigh of relief huge heaps of saints a greater cloud of witness, lined the sides and hills and linger for moments upon giant mountains.

Taking up from where we left off, giving time to change our woes, and exchange victory for a rush of rapture, and the commencement to retrieve our eternal robe, having left the physical affair in the dusty piece of brittle mud, drag back to the silence of sleep.

Crystallized into the appearance of spirit, we will no longer have the persistence of gloom made to sadden our lives, for we shall be in the sunrise above the frosty clouds in the gold glass park of heaven, not standing around paralyzed into rigid forms, but jingling on the happy streets of paradise.  

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