The fire in leaf and grass so green it seems each summer the last summer.
Heck, if anybody told me I was setting a record (strikeouts in a game on July 30, 1933) I'd of got me some more strikeouts.
The thinnest yellow light of November is more warming and exhilarating than any wine they tell of. The mite which November contributes becomes equal in value to the bounty of July.
Life is like an onion: you peel off layer after layer and then you find there is nothing in it.
In the winter, I'm always in Europe. July and September are New Zealand and Chile camps. I'm always on the road.
I would sign on for projects that were meant to shoot in July, and then they would postponed and they would bleed into the following semester, and then I'd take a semester off, and then the movie would collapse.
And if a diversion is needed, why not arrest a general? Arthur Dillon is a friend of eminent deputies, a contender for the post of Commander-in-Chief of the Northern Front; he has proved himself at Valmy and in a halfdozen actions since. In the National Assembly he was a liberal; now he is a republican. Isn't it then logical that he should be thrown into gaol, July 1, on suspicion of passing military secrets to the enemy?