I Count Only The Hours That Are

Every Year, In November, At The Season That Follows The Hour Of The Dead, The Crowning And Majestic Hours Of Autumn, I Go To Visit The Chrysanthemums ... They Are Indeed, The Most Universal, The Most Diverse Of Flowers.

We Are Never The Same With Others As When We Are Alone. We Are Different, Even When We Are In The Dark With Them.

You Do Well To Have Visions Of A Better Life Than Of Every Day, But It Is The Life Of Every Day From Which The Elements Of A Better Life Must Come.

Brave Old-flowers! Wall-flowers, Gilly Flowers, Stocks! For Even As The Field-flowers, From Which A Trifle, A Ray Of Beauty, A Drop Of Perfume, Divides Them, They Have Charming Names, The Softest In The Language; And Each Of Them, Like Tiny, Art-less Ex-votos, Or Like Medals Bestowed By The Gratitude Of Men, Proudly Bears Three Or Four.

I Am Moved By The Light.