Flowers Really Do Intoxicate Me.

I Do Not Like January Very Much. It Is Too Stationary. Not Enough Happens. I Like The Evidences Of Life, And In January There Are Too Few Of Them.

Among The Many Problems Which Beset The Novelist, Not The Least Weighty Is The Choice Of The Moment At Which To Begin His Novel.

There's No Beginning To The Farmer's Year, / Only Recurrent Patterns On A Scroll / Unwinding...

All The Small Squalors Of The Body, Known Only To Oneself, Insignificant In Youth, Easily Dismissed, In Old Age Became Dominant And Entered Into Fulfilment Of The Tyranny They Had Always Threatened.

The Public, As A Whole, Finds Reassurance In Longevity, And, After The Necessary Interlude Of Reaction, Is Disposed To Recognize Extreme Old Age As A Sign Of Excellence. The Long-liver Has Triumphed Over At Least One Of Man's Initial Handicaps: The Brevity Of Life.