Youth is stranger than fiction.
The cool kindliness of sheets, that soon smooth away trouble; and the rough male kiss of blankets.
A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.