Alphabetarion # Tender | Sherwood Anderson, 1919

“Love is like a wind stirring the grass beneath trees on a black night. You must
not try to make love definite. It is the divine accident of life. If you try to be definite
and sure about it and to live beneath the trees, where soft night winds blow, the long
hot day of disappointment comes swiftly and the gritty dust from passing wagons
gathers upon lips inflamed and made tender by kisses.”

 Sherwood Anderson, Winesburg, Ohio, 1919