It Isn't Possible To Love And To

Don't Go Fighting Against The Spring.

Nature Pulls One Way And Human Nature Another.

I Am An Unspeakable Of The Oscar Wilde Sort.

The Present Flowed By Them Like A Stream. The Tree Rustled. It Had Made Music Before They Were Born, And Would Continue After Their Deaths, But Its Song Was Of The Moment. The Moment Had Passed. The Tree Rustled Again. Their Senses Were Sharpened, And They Seemed To Apprehend Life. Life Passed. The Tree Rustled Again.

I Am Certainly An Ought And Not A Must.