“His beautiful, light imagination is the wing that on the autumn evening just brushes the dusky window.”

…he had long decided that abundant laughter should be the embellishment of the remainder of his days.

The right time is any time that one is still so lucky as to have.

To criticize is to appreciate, to appropriate, to take intellectual possession.

Be generous, be delicate, and always pursue the prize.

She feels in italics and thinks in CAPITALS.

Americans will eat garbage provided you sprinkle it liberally with ketchup.

She is like a revolving lighthouse; pitch darkness alternating with a dazzling brilliancy!

A man who pretends to understand women is bad manners. For him to really to understand them is bad morals.

To believe in a child is to believe in the Future.

She had an unequalled gift, especially pen in hand, of squeezing big mistakes into small opportunities.

You must save what you can of your life; you musn’t lose it all simply because you’ve lost a part.

It takes a great deal of history to produce a little literature.

Under certain circumstances there are few hours in life more agreeable than the hour dedicated to the ceremony known as afternoon tea.

One can’t judge till one’s forty; before that we’re too eager, too hard, too cruel, and in addition much too ignorant.

Don’t try so much to form your character – it’s like trying to pull open a tight, tender young rose.

The visible world is but man turned inside out that he may be revealed to himself.

I am a child of autumn: At home amongst things that only know of falling.

Autumn comes to the sea with a fresh blaze of phosphorescence, when every wave crest is aflame. Here and there the whole surface may glow with sheets of cold fire, while below schools of fish pour through the water like molten metal.

Autumn nights carry the most colourful dreams through the empty woods.

Let autumn be proof that change is a beautiful thing even tho it can be hard to see at first.

I am learning to let go like autumn. I am learning to grow like spring.

On bitter autumn nights your name lies at the tip of my tongue, as silent memories of us come to haunt me.

Our love was of the autumn- heady, golden and pure. But limited, always doomed to expire.

Autumn leaves don’t fall, they fly.