What A Strange Distance There Is Between

Youth Knows No Remedy For Grief But Death.

I Find You In All Small And Lovely Things; In The Little Fishes Like Flames In The Green Water, In The Furred And Stupid Softness Of Bumble-bees Fat As Laughter, In All The Chiming Radiance Of Warmth And Light And Scent In The Summer Garden.

We Are So Little, So Ignorant, So Feeble An Infant Race Crawling On A Planet Between Immensities We Haven't Even Begun To Understand, That Really We Have No Grounds For Either Congratulation Or Despair.

Love Needs The Stiffening Of Respect, The Give And Take Of Equality.

It's The Things You Don't Do, Not The Things You Do, You Feel Most Sorry For.