Nothing endures. Not a tree. Not love. Not even death by violence.

So the more things remain the same, the more they change after all.

the scornful force of his tone turned the word into a curse

As I walked briskly out the road the wind knifed at my face, but this sun caressed the back of my neck.

What I mean is, I love winter, and when you really love something, then it loves you back, in whatever way it has to love.

It was demeaning to scrape affection from virtually everyone you encountered. That was immature.

There are simply more young people than there ever were. You get this feeling of strength. Also, large numbers can be a drawback, making it difficult to lose one's anonymity.