Will I remember this day only as the time… when there was so much hope, when so much seemed possible? For such times have always happened, as far back as there was time itself, and in my thinking, many of those times have come and passed: when it seemed like anything could happen, and then nothing did. What came of them, what became of those fires, that lit all the senses in their ignitions? I wonder now what shall befall me, what will become of these inspirations — as time relentlessly presses on, does its best to wear down the every mechanism it sets in motion. This is the test of a man, I think: just for a moment to outrace the decay, and taste of that Tree of Life he was denied in Eden. One must decide to do what he can. Make something of hope.