The writer, an old man with a white moustache, had some difficulty getting into bed.

I have seldom written a story, long or short, that I did not have to write and rewrite. There are single stories of mine that have taken me ten or twelve years to get written.

The fruition of the year had come and the night should have been fine with a moon in the sky and the crisp sharp promise of frost in the air, but it wasn't that way. It rained and little puddles of water shone under the street lamps on Main Street. In the woods in the darkness beyond the Fair Ground water dripped from the black trees.

Dare to be strong and courageous. That is the road. Venture anything. Be brave enough to dare to be loved. Be something more than man or woman. Be Tandy.

It is all right you're saying you do not need other people, but there are a lot of people who need you.

...she thought that something unexpressed in herself came forth and became a part of an unexpressed something in them.

Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.