What is the heart? It is not human and it is not imaginary. I call it you.
A shadow cannot ignore the sun that all day creates and moves it.
The rose does best as a rose. Lilies make the best lilies. And look! You - the best you around!
In Winter the bare boughs that seem to sleep Work covertly, preparing for their Spring.
Every fragile beauty, every perfect forgotten sentence, you grieve their going away, but that is not how it is. Where they come from never goes dry. It is an always flowing spring.
There is no worse sickness for the soul, o you who are proud, than this pretense of perfection.