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128 DAYS IN THE SUN
moment and the present hour is for him the only true
value; he does not like to give up any of to-day’s pos-
sessions in favor of an already quite uncertain mor-
row, and he certainly is still less interested in remote
future prospects.
As the Andalusian’s crops flourish excellently with-
out any wind, so his own development proceeds suc-
cessfully without any obstacles to overcome. He is
like an orange-tree that fills the valleys with fragrance,
spreading its foliage harmoniously and uniformly, be-
cause no wind has stunted its growth and bent its
crown. The golden fruits blaze jubilantly in the sun;
and if a gust of wind should come along, they would
all fall, for the tree has not been tempered by ad-
versity.
Like a sun-flower, the Andalusian lets his being flow
toward the sun and all the wrinkles that deposit them-
selves prematurely in his brow come from the sun;
they radiate like crow’s-feet from his blinking eyes,
living witnesses of the sun’s strength and favor—
tokens of happiness, they have nothing to do with
suffering. What matters it to him what the sun is made
of? It shines! And the celestial spaces, the terres-
trial globe, the customs and practices of other lands—
why should he rack his brains over these? Here he
is; he exists; that is the essential—the whole thing!
And what other reason is there for living if not to
` enjoy himself, to consume the fruits of life, and to
slip as adroitly as possible through all difficulties!
To live and let live, to enjoy, to be happy !—is the
refrain of his life; he is an Epicurean. But he is an
Epicurean of a peculiar type, making as few demands
on life as did old Diogenes himself.
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