“In the end, the wind takes everything, doesn't it? And why not? Why other? If the sweetness of our lives did not depart, there would be no sweetness at all.”

“If the sweetness of our lives did not depart, there would be no sweetness at all.”

“I the sweetness of our lives did not depart, there would be no sweetness at all.”

“Too much to take in, too much to purge. Why must every memory, once sweet, dead end in such ugliness?”

“I HAD a dove and the sweet dove died; And I have thought it died of grieving: O, what could it grieve for? Its feet were tied, With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving; Sweet little red feet! why should you die - Why should you leave me, sweet bird! why? You liv'd alone in the forest-tree, Why, pretty thing! would you not live with me? I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas; Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?”

“Why couldn't you let me have it? Why did you have to take it? Why did you always take everything?”