Would youth be it that holds all ideas, only that we might reflect upon unknowing our feeble hands of then, to see now empty fingers; to know now what slipped through? For yesterday was ever a more fruitful time than now; play, ever a more valuable thing than truth.

Then let us play here for a moment– careless though it may be to remain a child in the past; yet the careless are the carefree, so long as this Blithe playing lasts.