Fern was up at daylight, trying to rid the world of injustice. As a result, she now has a pig. A small one to be sure, but nevertheless a pig. It jus… - E.B. White

Swamps where cedars grow and turtles wait on logs but not for anything in particular; fields bordered by crooked fences broken by years of standing still; orchards so old they have forgotten where the farmhouse is. In the north I have eaten my lunch in pastures rank with ferns and junipers, all under fair skies with a wind blowing.

An editor is a person who knows more about writing than writers do but who has escaped the terrible desire to write.

Summertime is important. It's like a shaft of sunlight.
Or a note in music, said Elizabeth Acheson.
Or the way the back of a baby's neck smells if its mother keeps it tidy, said Marilyn Roberts.
Stuart sighed. Never forget your summertimes, my dears, he said.