The Point Of Good Writing

Outgrowing Things We Love Is Never A Pleasant Process.

Doesn't Matter What A Person's Name Is As Long As He Behaves Himself.

It Was October Again ... A Glorious October, All Red And Gold, With Mellow Mornings When The Valleys Were Filled With Delicate Mists As If The Spirit Of Autumn Had Poured Them In For The Sun To Drain - Amethyst, Pearl, Silver, Rose, And Smoke-blue. The Dews Were So Heavy That The Fields Glistened Like Cloth Of Silver And There Were Such Heaps Of Rustling Leaves In The Hollows Of Many-stemmed Woods To Run Crisply Through.

Trees, Unlike So Many Humans, Always Improve On Acquaintance. No Matter How Much You Like Them At The Start You Are Sure To Like Them Much Better Further On, And Best Of All When You Have Known Them For Years And Enjoyed Intercourse With Them In All Seasons.

[o]ne Can Dream So Much Better In A Room Where There Are Pretty Things.