It was the touch of the imperfect upon the would-be perfect that gave the sweetness, because it was that which gave the humanity
Thomas HardyThat it would always be summer and autumn, and you always courting me, and always thinking as much of me as you have done through the past summertime!
Thomas HardyHe Looked and smelt like Autumn's very brother, his face being sunburnt to wheat-colour, his eyes blue as corn-flowers, his sleeves and leggings dyed with fruit-stains, his hands clammy with the sweet juice of apples, his hat sprinkled with pips, and everywhere about him the sweet atmosphere of cider which at its first return each season has such an indescribable fascination for those who have been born and bred among the orchards.
Thomas Hardy