It is when our budding hopes are nipped beyond recovery by some rough wind, that we are the most disposed to picture to ourselves what flowers they might have borne, if they had flourished . . .
To lose the touch of flowers and women's hands is the supreme separation.
As from a large heap of flowers many garlands and wreaths are made, so by a mortal in this life there is much good work to be done.
Like flowers scattered in a storm, a man's life is a long farewell.
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