The imagination loses vitality as it ceases to adhere to what is real. When it adheres to the unreal and intensifies what is unreal, while its first effect may be extraordinary, that effect is the maximum effect that it will ever have.

We must endure our thoughts all night, until the bright obvious stands motionless in the cold.

Poor, dear, silly Spring, preparing her annual surprise!

Imagination...is the irrepressible revolutionist.

Trees Trees, proud standing people stretching fingertips to the sky, reaching, praying glorious attention, breathing light. strength shelter timeless confidence bending and firm comforting rooted chorus line dancing with the moon, the wind, the clouds framing bursts of stars tender rugged celebration absorbing and releasing life each holy branch holding the power of the Universe. There.

Our bloom is gone. We are the fruit thereof.

Death is the mother of beauty. Only the perishable can be beautiful, which is why we are unmoved by artificial flowers.