I wonder what it would be like to live in a world where it was always June.
Look, do you see that poem?’ she said suddenly, pointing.
Even eighty-odd is sometimes vulnerable to vanity.
Anne came dancing home in the purple winter twilight across the snowy places.
I’m so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers.
Who would endure life if it were not for the hope of death?
Gossip, as usual, was one-third right and two-thirds wrong.