I feel like such a simpleton uncultured person because I don’t immediately get pleasure from Romantic poems such as Wordsworth’s Ode: Intimations to Immortality. Am I that dumb or numb to nature then? My life knows no natural or wilderness-related beauty. I am surrounded and boxed in by my room, my gadgets, my software, my mind. I feel nothing when I read that poem and that is why I conveniently forget everything I read a day later. There really is no knowledge when there’s no pleasure. Depression takes life and knowledge away.