God gives us dreadful gifts. The most dreadful of all is memory. - Ray Bradbury

It was September.

In the last days when things are getting sad for no reason.

THE OCTOBER COUNTRY …that country where it is always turning late in the year. That country where the hills are fog and the rivers are mist; where noons go quickly, dusks and twilights linger, and midnights stay. That country composed in the main of cellars, sub-cellars, coal-bins, closets, attics, and pantries faced away from the sun. That country whose people are autumn people, thinking only autumn thoughts. Whose people passing at night on the empty walks sound like rain…

If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none.