You see - the moulded whimsy of a frieze on a portico keeps us from recognizing, sometimes, the symmetry of the whole... You will leave; we'll forget one another; but now and then the name of a street, or a street organ weeping in the twilight, will remind us in a more vivid and more truthful way than thought could resurrect or words convey, of that main thing which was between us, the main thing which we do not know ... And in that hour, the soul will miraculously sense the charm of past trifles, and we will understand that in eternity all is eternal