The Point Of Good Writing Is Knowing

I Like To Hear A Storm At Night. It Is So Cosy To Snuggle Down Among The Blankets And Feel That It Can't Get At You.

Everything Is New In The Spring. Springs Themselves Are Always So New, Too. No Spring Is Ever Just Like Any Other Spring. It Always Has Something Of Its Own To Be Its Own Peculiar Sweetness.

…the Lake Of Shining Waters Was Blue — Blue — Blue; Not The Changeful Blue Of Spring, Nor The Pale Azure Of Summer, But A Clear, Steadfast, Serene Blue, As If The Water Were Past All Modes And Tenses Of Emotion And Had Settled Down To A Tranquillity Unbroken By Fickle Dreams.

There's Such A Lot Of Different Annes In Me. I Sometimes Think That Is Why I'm Such A Troublesome Person. If I Was Just The One Anne It Would Be Ever So Much More Comfortable, But Then It Wouldn't Be Half So Interesting.

My Life Is A Perfect Graveyard Of Buried Hopes.