It was England in the autumn; the sun was, by definition, something that only happened when it wasn't cloudy or raining.

There was reality and there was reality; and some things were more real than others.

'You're no help,' he told the lime. This was unfair. It was only a lime; there was nothing special about it at all. It was doing the best it could.

There's never been a true war that wasn't fought between two sets of people who were certain they were in the right. The really dangerous people believe they a…

One afternoon in early January, the weather showed a lack of character. There was no frost nor wind: the trees in the garden did not stir.

The rain has lifted enough so that we can see the horizon now, a sharp line demarking the light grey of the sky and the darker grey of the water.

There is a sumptuous variety about the New England weather that compels the stranger's admiration - and regret. The weather is always doing something there; al…