By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know the texture of men's souls.
By the cigars they smoke, and the composers they love, ye shall know the texture of men's souls.
A marvellous speeder-up of Love is War. What might have taken six months, was thus accomplished in three weeks.
. . . Love is no hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower and when it blooms outside we call a weed but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild
Love has no age, no limit; and no death.
James had passed through the fire, but he had passed also through the river of years which washes out the fire he had experienced the saddest experience of all--forgetfulness of what it was like to be in love.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories