And Yale is November, crisp and energetic.

sometimes i wish i'd been an englishman; american life is so damned dumb and stupid and healthy

Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.

So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.

If I knew words enough, I could write the longest love letter in the world and never get tired

Forgotten is forgiven.

the growth of intimacy is like that. First one gives off his best picture, the bright and finished product mended with bluff and falsehood and humour. Then more details are required and one paints a second portrait, and a third – before long the best lines cancel out – and the secret is exposed at last; the planes of the pictures have intermingled and given us away, and though we paint and paint we can no longer sell a picture. We must be satisfied with hoping that such fatuous accounts of ourselves as we make to our wives and children and business associates are accepted as true