Oh, Sometimes I Think It Is Of

Nothing Worth While Is Every Easy Come By.

Truth Exists, Only Lies Have To Be Invented.

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.

Nobody With Any Real Sense Of Humor *can* Write A Love Story. . . . Shakespeare Is The Exception That Proves The Rule. (90-91)

Words Aren't Made — They Grow,' Said Anne.