Death Grows Friendlier As We Grow Older.

To Dispair Is To Turn Your Back On God.

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.

It Is Ever So Much Easier To Be Good If Your Clothes Are Fashionable.

You'd Find It Easier To Be Bad Than Good If You Had Red Hair," Said Anne Reproachfully. "people Who Haven't Red Hair Don't Know What Trouble Is.

You Must Pay The Penalty Of Growing-up, Paul. You Must Leave Fairyland Behind You.