Tools Have Their Own Integrity.

It Is A Sad Moment When The First Phlox Appears. It Is The Amber Light Indicating The End Of The Great Burst Of Early Summer And Suggesting That We Must Now Start Looking Forward To Autumn. Not That I Have Any Objection To Autumn As A Season, Full Of Its Own Beauty; But I Just Cannot Bear To See Another Summer Go, And I Recoil From What The First Hint Of Autumn Means.

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.

Women, Like Men, Ought To Have Their Years So Glutted With Freedom That They Hate The Very Idea Of Freedom.

April, The Angel Of The Months, The Young Love Of The Year.

Forget Not Bees In Winter, Though They Sleep.