Sweet Skepticism of the Heart That knows and does not know And tosses like a Fleet of Balm Affronted by the snow.

Write me of hope and love, and hearts that endured.

Tis not that dieing hurts us so- tis living- hurts us more.

To shut your eyes is to travel.

I am nobody! Who are you? Are you a nobody, too?

They address an Eclipse every morning, whom they call their "Father."

Good times are always mutual; that is what makes good times.