Walking from here to there, I pass this bike every now again on the path. It is always parked at the same spot and the bouquet is always the same. Flowers made from silk and paper do not die, nor do they live. They look mighty good though.

Just as a flower which seems beautiful and has color but no perfume, so are the fruitless words of the man who speaks them but does them not.

-John Dewey

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