It's Risky To Talk About One's Most

I Love Borders. August Is The Border Between Summer And Autumn; It Is The Most Beautiful Month I Know.

It Looks Rather Ordinary," Said The Snork. "unless You Consider That A Top Hat Is Always Somewhat Extraordinary, Of Course.

There Are Those Who Stay At Home And Those Who Go Away, And It Has Always Been So. Everyone Can Choose For Himself, But He Must Choose While There Is Still Time And Never Change His Mind.

It's A Funny Thing About Bogs. You Can Fill Them With Rocks And Sand And Old Logs And Make A Little Fenced-in Yard On Top With A Woodpile And Chopping Block - But Bogs Go Right On Behaving Like Bogs. Early In The Spring They Breathe Ice And Make Their Own Mist, In Remembrance Of The Time When They Had Black Water And Their Own Sedge Blossoming Untouched.

One Summer Morning At Sunrise A Long Time Ago I Met A Little Girl With A Book Under Her Arm. I Asked Her Why She Was Out So Early And She Answered That There Were Too Many Books And Far Too Little Time. And There She Was Absolutely Right.