Summer makes a silence after spring.

The true solitary ... will feel that he is himself only when he is alone; when he is in company he will feel that he perjures himself, prostitutes himself to the exactions of others; he will feel that time spent in company is time lost; he will be conscious only of his impatience to get back to his true life.

I have come to the conclusion, after many years of sometimes sad experience, that you cannot come to any conclusion at all.

Autumn in felted slipper shuffles on, Muted yet fiery.--Vita Sackville-West

When, and how, and at what stage of our development did spirituality and our strange notions of religion arise? the need for worship which is nothing more than our frightened refuge into propitiation of a Creator we do not understand? A detective story, the supreme Who-done-it, written in indecipherable hieroglyphics, no Rosetta stone supplied by the consummate Mystifier to tease us poor fumbling unravellers of his plot.

I worshipped dead men for their strength, Forgetting I was strong.

I loved you when love was Spring, and May, Loved you when summer deepened into June, and now when autumn yellows all the leaves.