Stories Last Longer: But Only

'love Is A Myth,' Grandfather Trout Said. 'like Summer.' 'what?' 'in Winter,' Grandfather Trout Said, 'summer Is A Myth. A Report, A Rumor. Not To Be Believed In. Get It? Love Is A Myth. So Is Summer.'

Well, Do You Do That Consciously?" Daily Alice Asked, Only Partly Of Cloud. "do What?" Cloud Said. "grow Up? No. Well. In A Sense. You See It's Inevitable, Or Refuse To. You Greet It Or Don't -- Take It In Trade, Maybe, For All You're Going To Lose Anyway. Or You Can Refuse, And Have What You've Got To Lose Snatched From You, And Never Take Payment -- Never See A Trade Is Possible.

It Was Anyway All A Long Time Ago; The World, We Know Now, Is As It Is And Not Different; If There Was Ever A Time When There Were Passages, Doors, The Borders Open And Many Crossing, That Time Is Not Now. The World Is Older Than It Was. Even The Weather Isn’t As We Remember It Clearly Once Being; Never Lately Does There Come A Summer Day Such As We Remember, Never Clouds As White As That, Never Grass As Odorous Or Shade As Deep And Full Of Promise As We Remember They Can Be, As Once Upon A Time They Were.

God, He Thought, Her Eyes Are So Bright, Flashing, Deep, Full Of Promise, All Those Things Eyes Are In Books But Never Are In Life, And She Was His.

Seeing A Woman's Child Is Like Seeing A Woman Naked, In The Way It Changes How Her Face Looks To You, How Her Face Becomes Less The Whole Story.