“It is only in sorrow bad weather masters us in joy we face the storm and defy it.”
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But the lover's power is the poet's power. He can make love from all the common strings with which this world is strung.
That is the great mistake about the affections. It is not the rise and fall of empires, the birth and death of kings, or the marching of armies that move them most. When they answer from their depths, it is to the domestic joys and tragedies of life.
Old age is the verdict of life.
Events that are predestined require but little management. They manage themselves. They slip into place while we sleep, and suddenly we are aware that the thing we fear to attempt, is already accomplished.
