The thirsty Earth soaks up the Rain, And drinks, and gapes for Drink again; The Plants suck in the Earth and are With constant Drinking fresh and fair.

Nothing in Nature's sober found, But an eternal Health goes round. Fill up the Bowl then, fill it high-- Fill all the Glasses there; for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?

Going back to Hemingway's work after several years is like going back to a brook where you had often fished and finding the woods as deep and cool as they used to be.

Of all ills that one endures,/ hope is a cheap and universal cure.

Though you be absent here, I needs must say / The trees as beauteous are, and flowers as gay, / As ever they were wont to be.

Nothing is there to come, and nothing past, But an eternal Now does always last.