But Just Think What A Dull World

Nobody With Any Real Sense Of Humor *can* Write A Love Story. . . . Shakespeare Is The Exception That Proves The Rule. (90-91)

There Are Many Worse Friends Than The Soft, Silent, Furry, Cat-folk.

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.

I Read In A Book Once That A Rose By Any Other Name Would Smell As Sweet, But I've Never Been Able To Believe It. I Don't Believe A Rose Would Be As Nice If It Was Called A Thistle Or A Skunk Cabbage.

How Fair The Realm Imagination Opens To The View.