I almost wish we were butterflies and liv’d but three summer days — three such days with you I could fill with more delight than fifty common years could ever contain. – John Keats
Theres a blush for won t, and a blush for shant, and a blush for having done it: Theres a blush for thought and a blush for naught, and a blush for just begun it. – John Keats

