"It was at the outskirts of the world that the Old Things accumulated, like driftwood round the edges of the sea. ("The Troll")" - T. H. White

The race will find that capitalists and communists modify themselves so much during the ages that they end by being indistinguishable as democrats...

The bravest people are the ones who don’t mind looking like cowards.

These marvels were great and comfortable ones, but in the old England there was a greater still. The weather behaved itself.
In the spring all the little flowers came out obediently in the meads, and the dew sparkled, and the birds sang; in the summer it was beautifully hot for no less than four months, and, if it did rain just enough for agricultural purposes, they managed to arrange it so that it rained while you were in bed; in the autumn the leaves flamed and rattled before the west winds, tempering their sad adieu with glory; and in the winter, which was confined by statute to two months, the snow lay evenly, three feet thick, but never turned into slush.