Autumn Carries More Gold In Its Pocket

The Future Is An Opaque Mirror. Anyone Who Tries To Look Into It Sees Nothing But The Dim Outlines Of An Old And Worried Face.

It Is Impossible To Read For Pleasure From Something To Which You Are Both Father And Mother, Born In Such Travail That The Writer Despises The Thing That Enslaved Him.

Scoops Of Mint Ice Cream With Chips Of Chocolate Cows.

Autumn Carries More Gold In Its Pocket Than All The Other Seasons.

I Can Look At My Books With Pleasure From A Distance. Four Feet Is Close Enough.