A relationship is like a rose,How long it lasts, no one knows;Love can erase an awful past,Love can be yours, you'll see at last;To feel that love, it makes you sigh,To have it leave, you'd rather die;You hope you've found that special rose,'Cause you love and care for the one you chose.
It was a folly, with the materiality of this daily life pressing so intrusively upon me, to attempt to fling myself back into another age; or to insist on creating a semblance of a world out of airy matter . . . This wiser effort would have been, to diffuse thought and imagination through the opaque substance of to-day, and thus make it a bright transparency . . . to seek resolutely the true and indestructible value that lay hidden in the petty and wearisome incidents and ordinary characters with which I was now conversant. The fault was mine. The page of life that was spread out before me was dull and commonplace, only because I had not fathomed its deeper import. A better book than I shall ever write was there . . . These perceptions came too late . . . I had ceased to be a writer of tolerably poor tales and essays, and had become a tolerably good Surveyor of the Customs. That was all.
Well, Son, I tell you, life for me aint been no crystal stair.Its been hard and bare and rough places on the floor, But all the while I'se been climbing, and going forth In the dark, cause there ain't been no light. So dont you sit down cause its kinds hard, Dont you quit because its rough Cause you see, I'se still climbing And life for me aint been no crystal stair.