No One But Night, With Tears On

Childhood Is Not From Birth To A Certain Age And At A Certain Age. The Child Is Grown, And Puts Away Childish Things. Childhood Is The Kingdom Where Nobody Dies.

What Should I Be But Just What I Am?

Oh, Children, Growing Up To Be Adventurers Into Sophistry, Forbear, Forbear To Be Of Those That Read The Rood To Learn The Rose.

Beautiful As A Dandelion-blossom, Golden In The Green Grass, This Life Can Be. Common As A Dandelion-blossom, Beautiful In The Clean Grass, Not Beautiful Because Common, Beautiful Because Beautiful, Noble Because Common, Because Free.

Life Must Go On; I Forget Just Why.