What "love" is I don't know if it's not the response of our deepest natures to one another.
That which is possible is inevitable.
A new world is only a new mind.
In summer, the song sings itself.
But time in only another liar, so go along the wall a little further: if blackberries prove bitter there'll be mushrooms, fairy-ring mushrooms in the grass, sweetest of all fungi.
Time is a storm in which we are all lost.