I went to an elderly gentleman's house to give him a copy of my poetry magazine. He said, "come to this evening's poetry session". I said, "how can I go uninvited?" "I am inviting you", he said. "Let me see, if I can make it", I said, knowing fully well that I would never go, because he was surely not the organiser.
The malice mill was at it again, I thought. Who could it be, I wondered. But did not give any more thought to it. Such social ripples do not perturb me anymore. That you are on a winning track becomes evident when the malice mill works hard.
I know now quite well now, current adulations are more likely inversely proportional to one’s real worth.