Those roses under my window make no reference to former roses or to better ones; they are for what they are; they exist with God today. There is no time to them. There is simply the rose; it is perfect in every moment of its existence. ...But man postpones or remembers; he does not live in the present, but with reverted eyes laments the past, or heedless of the riches that surround him, stands tiptoe to foresee the future. He cannot be happy and strong until he too lives with nature in the present, above time.