That I could stand stalwart in the hopes that they might live, inextricable from the scattered remains of courage that blow through the infinite passages we seek.
The scattered tea goes with the leaves and every day a sunset dies. - William Falkner
I never liked Faulkner much. He just seemed awfully negative to me. I'd have written poetry about how at every dawn, the day is reborn. He, on the other hand, writes about how at every sunset, one dies. His glass was always half empty.
He was quite the pessimist - but poetic, none the less.
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