Love, you know, seeks to make happy rather than to be happy.

Love, you know, seeks to make happy rather than to be happy.

Spring had come. Despite the many wet and gusty days which April had thrust in rude challenge upon reluctant May, in the glory of the triumphant sun which flooded the concave blue of heaven and the myriad shaded green of earth, the whole world knew to-day, the whole world proclaimed that spring had come. The yearly miracle had been performed.

I would often be a coward, but for the shame of it.