Of Course I Should Love To Throw

That Pathetic Short-cut Suggested By Nature The Supreme Joker As A Remedy For Our Loneliness, That Ephemeral Communion Which We Persuade Ourselves To Be Of The Spirit When It Is In Fact Only Of The Body - Durable Not Even In Memory!

A Letter, By Its Arrival, Defrauds Us Of A Whole Secret Region Of Our Existence, The Only Region Indeed In Which The True Pleasure Of Life May Be Tasted, The Region Of Imagination, Creative And Protean, The Clouds And Beautiful Shapes Of Whose Heaven Are Destroyed By The Wind Of Reality.

I Do Not Like January Very Much. It Is Too Stationary. Not Enough Happens. I Like The Evidences Of Life, And In January There Are Too Few Of Them.

Everywhere Bees Go Racing With The Hours, / For Every Bee Becomes A Drunken Lover, / Standing Upon His Head To Sup The Flowers.

Summer Makes A Silence After Spring.