Growing up is losing some illusions, in order to acquire others. - Virginia Woolf

Theirs, too, is the word-coining genius, as if thought plunged into a sea of words and came up dripping.

Peter would think her sentimental. So she was. For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying – what one felt. Cleverness was silly. One must say simply what one felt.

The flower bloomed and faded. The sun rose and sank. The lover loved and went. And what the poets said in rhyme, the young translated into practice.