We love the things we love for what they are. - Robert Frost

Talking is a hydrant in the yard and writing is a faucet upstairs in the house. Opening the first takes all the pressure off the second.

He thought that I was after him for a feather — -
The white one in his tail: like one who takes everything said as personal to himself.

Ah, when to the heart of man Was it ever less than a treason To go with the drift of things, To yield with a grace to reason, And bow and accept the end Of a love or a season?