“Some days – some early mornings – when the wind smells of blossoms I’ll never see, and there are fawns playing in the misty orchards, and you’re yawning and mumbling and scratching your head, and growling that we’ll see rain before nightfall, and probably hail as well, on such mornings I wish with all my heart that we could both live forever, and I think you were a great fool to give it up.”
