When we lose these woods, we lose our soul. Not simply as individuals, but as a people.
These Moments Pass: PoemsTime passes, and little by little everything that we have spoken in falsehood becomes true.
Marcel ProustWhat are friends for, if not to help bear our sins?
The Complete Fiction of Nella Larsen: Passing, Quicksand, and The StoriesThe charms of the passing woman are generally in direct proportion to the swiftness of her passing.
Marcel Proust