Summer — Summer — Summer!

The Value Of A Sentiment Is The Amount Of Sacrifice You Are Prepared To Make For It.

Love Could Never Come To Full Fruition Till It Was Destroyed.

Early Morning Does Not Mince Words.

I Drink The Wine Of Aspiration And The Drug Of Illusion. Thus I Am Never Dull.

It Is An Age Of Stir And Change, A Season Of New Wine And Old Bottles. Yet, Assuredly, In Spite Of Breakages And Waste, A Wine Worth The Drinking Is All The Time Being Made.