O, Life! how pleasant is thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning! Cold pausing Caution's lesson scorning, We frisk away, Like schoolboys, at the expected warning, To joy and play.
. . . nothing in his life Became him like the leaving it; he died As one that had been studied in his death To throw away the dearest thing he owed, As 'twere a careless trifle.
...a carefree letting go of oneself, not a caution, but a wise blindness.
I feel like writing about a time when I was probably, and think all of us are, the happiest before the obligations start in.
I could run nearly naked on a hot, windy beach and plunge without care into a running diamond sea; roll on the sand and fling my arms wide to the sun and still be what I was...young.
It's that quirky kind of weekend feeling they write ridiculous sunny-day songs about. You know the ones--I'm sure they're on your iPod even though you'd never admit it.
I am a freeman and jolly as a beggar.
Be a child again. Flirt. Giggle. Dip your cookies in your milk. Take a nap. Say you're sorry if you hurt someone. Chase a butterfly. Be a child again.
O what a flowery track lies spread before me, henceforth! What dust clouds shall spring up behind me as I speed on my reckless way! What carts I shall fling carelessly into the ditch in the wake of my magnificent onset!
