He might wish and wish and never get it - the beauty and the loving in the world!
Really," said Winifred suddenly; "it almost seems like Fate. Only that's so old-fashioned.
Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flo...
Men are in fact, quite unable to control their own inventions; they at best develop adaptability to the new conditions those inventions create.
It was such a spring day as breathes into a man an ineffable yearning, a painful sweetness, a longing that makes him stand motionless, looking at the leaves or grass, and fling out his arms to embrace he knows not what.
Youth to youth, like the dragon-flies chasing each other, and love like the sun warming them through and through.
