The irregular and intimate quality of things made entirely by the huma >>
Writing ought either to be the manufacture of stories for which there >>
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and >>
Often in winter the end of the day is like the final metaphor in a poe >>
O, wind, if winter comes, can spring be far behind? >>
January, month of empty pockets! Let us endure this evil month, anxiou >>
Winter lies too long in country towns; hangs on until it is stale and shabby, old and sullen.