回忆
There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.
Writing is a way of living life twice, in the moment and in retrospect.
April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.
Poetry should surprise by a fine excess and not by singularity—it should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance.
