Writing is learning to say nothing, more cleverly each day.

She danced a jig, she sung a song that took my heart away.

Now Autumn's fire burns slowly along the woods and day by day the dead leaves fall and melt.

If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one: I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me.

I have been an "Official" all my life, without the least turn for it. I never could attain a true official manner, which is highly artificial and handles trifles with ludicrously disproportionate gravity.

Autumn's the mellow time.