There Was A Rock In Front Of

When Good Befalls A Man He Calls It Providence, When Evil Fate.

There Is Nothing Like Being Left Alone Again, To Walk Peacefully With Oneself In The Woods. To Boil One's Coffee And Fill One's Pipe, And To Think Idly And Slowly As One Does It.

No, I Don't Admire The Genius. But I Admire And Love The Result Of The Genius's Activity In The World, Of Which The Great Man Is Only The Poor Necessary Tool, Only, So To Speak, The Paltry Awl To Bore With.

But Now It Was Spring Again, And Spring Was Almost Unbearable For Sensitive Hearts. It Drove Creation To Its Utmost Limits, It Wafted Its Spice-laden Breath Even Into The Nostrils Of The Innocent.

The Heavy Red Roses Smoldering In The Foggy Morning, Blood-colored And Uninhibited, Made Me Greedy, And Tempted Me Powerfully To Steal One--i Asked The Prices Merely So I Could Come As Near Them As Possible.