Storms Probably Exist Only Because After Them

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

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.

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.

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.

She Started Thinking About All The Euphemisms For Death, All The Anxious Taboos That Had Always Fascinated Her. It Was Too Bad You Could Never Have An Intelligent Discussion On The Subject. People Were Either Too Young Or Too Old, Or Else They Didn't Have Time.