Keep walking. Be in Love. Smell the flowers.

"'You do not love me,' said the Tragedian in a thin batlike voice: and he was now very difficult to see.
'I cannot love a lie,' said the Lady. 'I cannot love the thing which is not. I am in Love and out of it I will not go.'"

'And yet...and yet...,' said I to my Teacher, when all the shapes and the singing had passed some distance into the forest, 'even now I am not quite sure. Is it really possible that she should be untouched by his misery, even his self-made misery?'
'Would ye rather he still had the power of tormenting her? He did it many a day and many a year in their earthly marriage.'
'Well, no. I suppose I don't want that.'

'The passion of Pity, the Pity we merely suffer, the ache that draws men to concede what should not be conceded andto flatter when they should not speak - that will die.
.....Every disease that submits to a cure shall be cured: but we will not call blue yellow to please those who insist on still having jaundice, nor make a midden of the world's garden for the sake of some who cannot abide the smell of roses.'