Despair Is A Free Man--hope Is A

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.

That's The Worst Of Growing Up, And I'm Beginning To Realize It. The Things You Wanted So Much When You Were A Child Don't Seem Half So Wonderful To You When You Get Them.

It Was Three O'clock In The Morning – The Wisest And Most Accursed Hour Of The Clock. But Sometimes It Sets Us Free.

Why, I've Never Even Had A Quarrel With Any One. I Haven't An Enemy. What A Spineless Thing I Must Be Not To Have Even One Enemy!

Isn't It Better To Have Your Heart Broken Than To Have It Wither Up? Before It Could Be Broken It Must Have Felt Something Splendid. That Would Be Worth The Pain.