One Ought To Have The Right To

Smell Is Important. It Reminds A Person Of All The Things He's Been Through; It Is A Sheath Of Memories And Security.

It Is Still Summer, But The Summer Is No Longer Alive. It Has Come To A Standstill; Nothing Withers, And Fall Is Not Ready To Begin. There Are No Stars Yet, Just Darkness.

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.

But He Thought All The Strange Words Were Beautiful, And He Had Never Had A Book Of His Own Before.

Why Are You In Such A Rush?" Sophia Asked, And Her Grandmother Answered That It Was A Good Idea To Do Things Before You Forgot That They Had To Be Done.