What are days for? Days are where we live. They come, they wake us Time and time over. Theyare to be happy in: Where can we live but days?
A good meal can somewhat repair / The eatings of slight love
All the unhurried day / Your mind lay open like a drawer of knives.
Depression is to me as daffodils were to Wordsworth.
How little our careers express what lies in us, and yet how much time they take up. It's sad, really.
Life is first boredom, then fear.