You Ought To Know That October Is

The Sole Perfection Which Modern Civilization Attains Is A Mechanical One; Machines Are Splendid And Flawless, But The Life Which Serves Them Or Is Served By Them, Is Neither Superb Nor Brilliant, Nor More Perfect Nor More Graceful; Nor Is The Work Of The Machines Perfect; Only They, The Machines, Are Like Gods.

My Dear Miss Glory, Robots Are Not People. They Are Mechanically More Perfect Than We Are, They Have An Astounding Intellectual Capacity, But They Have No Soul.

The English Gentleman Is A Combination Of Silence, Courtesy, Dignity, Sport, Newspapers And Honesty.

While We Only Look At Nature It Is Fair To Say That Autumn Is The End Of The Year; But It Is Still More True That Autumn Is The Beginning Of The Year.... Autumn Is The Time When In Fact The Leaves Bud. Leaves Wither Because Winter Begins; But They Also Wither Because Spring Is Already Beginning, Because New Buds Are Being Made, As Tiny As Percussion Caps Out Of Which The Spring Will Crack.... It Is Only An Optical Illusion That My Flowers Die In Autumn; For In Reality They Are Born.

Wherever On This Planet Ideals Of Personal Freedom And Dignity Apply, There You Will Find The Cultural Inheritance Of England.