If You Can't Get To Be Oncommon

Now I Am In The Garden At The Back . . . A Very Preserve Of Butterflies As I Remember It, With A High Fence, And A Gate . . . Where The Fruit Clusters On The Trees, Riper And Richer Than Fruit Has Ever Been Since, In Any Other Garden, And Where My Mother Gathers Some In A Basket While I Stand By, Bolting Furtive Gooseberries, And Trying To Look Unnerved.

And I Am Quite Serious When I Say That I Do Not Believe There Are, On The Whole Earth Besides, So Many Intensified Bores As In These United States.

I Could Settle Down Into A State Of Equable Low Spirits, And Resign Myself To Coffee.

But The Mere Truth Won't Do. You Must Have A Lawyer.

A Smattering Of Everything, And A Knowledge Of Nothing.