Morning can always be counted on to bring us back to a more realistic level.
Death is one moment, and life is so many of them.
Sorrow makes for sincerity, I think.
But I think the spirit of man is a good adversary
Physical beauty is passing - a transitory possession - but beauty of the mind, richness of the spirit, tenderness of the heart - I have all these things - aren't taken away but grow! Increase with the years!
These are the intensities that one cannot live with, that he has to outgrow if he wants to survive. But who can help grieving for them? If the blood vessels could hold them, how much better to keep those early loves with us?