One swallow does not make a summer.
Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope.
Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.
If a man cannot enjoy the return of spring, why should he be happy in a labour-saving Utopia? What will he do with the leisure that the machine will give him?
As is the generation of leaves, so is that of humanity. The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but the live timber Burgeons with leaves again in the season of spring returning. So one generation of men will grow while another dies.
The only thing that could spoil a day was people. People were always the limiters of happiness except for the very few that were as good as spring itself.
