The Heart, When It Is Too Much

She Had Only To Stand In The Orchard, To Put Her Hand On A Little Crab Tree And Look Up At The Apples, To Make You Feel The Goodness Of Planting And Tending And Harvesting At Last.

Oh, That's The Beauty Of The Rose, That It Blossoms And Dies.

The End Is Nothing; The Road Is All.

When We Look Back, The Only Things We Cherish Are Those Which In Some Way Met Our Original Want; The Desire Which Formed In Us In Early Youth, Undirected, And Of Its Own Accord.

How Terrible It Was To Love People When You Could Not Really Share Their Lives!