"February... Now more than ever one must remind oneself that it is wasteful folly to wish that time would pass, or - as the puritanical old saying used to have it - to kill time until it kills you."

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In tangled wreath, in clustered gleaming stars, In floating, curling sprays, The golden flower comes shining though the woods These February days; Forth go all hearts, all hands, from out the town, To bring her gayly in, This wild, sweet Princess of far Florida - The yellow jessamine.

— Constance Fenimore Woolson