Songs are usually unfit for whistling - indeed, whistling (except to the person doing it) is unbearable.

Songs are usually unfit for whistling - indeed, whistling (except to the person doing it) is unbearable.

the breeze brought us a faint sound, as of a distant rat, a huge and mystic rat, gnawing, maybe, at the horizon!

How different a loved and familiar spot appears, when viewed with the eye of probable guests.

The thing one resents about winter is its inactivity; the perpetual sameness of ice-armored hills and snow-blanketed woods. Great things, of course, may be going on underneath; but nature wears a mask, is icily non-committal.

What a strange joy it was to talk, to fish gleefully into the past and fling its fragments about us, with the unfailing aroma of pleasantness that pasts always seem to possess!

timeliness is an enemy to art.