Her Little Butterfly Soul Fluttered Incessantly Between

Perfect Love Has A Breath Of Poetry Which Can Exalt The Relations Of The Least-instructed Human Beings.

After All, The True Seeing Is Within.

So Deeply Inherent Is It In This Life Of Ours That Men Have To Suffer For Each Other's Sins, So Inevitably Diffusive Is Human Suffering, That Even Justice Makes Its Victims, And We Can Conceive No Retribution That Does Not Spread Beyond Its Mark In Pulsations Of Unmerited Pain.

There's No Disappointment In Memory, And One's Exaggerations Are Always On The Good Side.

I Always Think The Flowers Can See Us, And Know What We Are Thinking About.