Brains Last, Beauty Doesn't.

Anne Always Remembered The Silvery, Peaceful Beauty And Fragrant Calm Of That Night. It Was The Last Night Before Sorrow Touched Her Life; And No Life Is Ever Quite The Same Again When Once That Cold, Sanctifying Touch Has Been Laid Upon It.

It's The Fools That Make All The Trouble In The World, Not The Wicked.

The Point Of Good Writing Is Knowing When To Stop.

Why Did Dusk And Fir-scent And The Afterglow Of Autumnal Sunsets Make People Say Absurd Things?

Anyone Who Has Gumption Knows What It Is, And Anyone Who Hasn’t Can Never Know What It Is. So There Is No Need Of Defining It.