"To be sitting on the bench behind somebody who only started to play when he was 30 is not funny."

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As the waves of perfume, heliotrope, rose, Float in the garden when no wind blows, Come to us, go from us, whence no one knows; So the old tunes float in my mind, And go from me leaving no trace behind, Like fragrance borne on the hush of the wind.

— Sara Teasdale