a sarcastic expression, on a beast, is far more sinister than rage.

But I shall like my battle. This sort of day puts one in mood for it. Plenty of wood in the shed, jam and potatoes and apples in the cellar, hay and oats and Cressy in the barn. Pooh - what is winter?

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

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.

a sarcastic expression, on a beast, is far more sinister than rage.

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

I love old moons. There is something humanized about them; they are dulled a little, and rich in color. One can stare all night at an old moon.