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Why is summer mist romantic and autumn mist just sad?

Dodie Smith

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Dodie Smith
Age: 94 †
Born: 1896
Born: May 3
Died: 1990
Died: November 24
Autobiographer
Novelist
Playwright
Screenwriter
Writer
Whitefield
Greater Manchester
Charles Henry Percy
C. L. Anthony
Dorothy Gladys Smith
Dorothy Gladys Beesley
Dorothy Beesley
Dodie Beesley
Summer
Mist
Autumn
Romantic

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It's a beautiful sight to see good dancers doing simple steps. It's a painful sight to see beginners doing complicated patterns.
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The Devil's out of fashion.
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It's odd how different a house feels when one is alone in it. It makes it easier to think rather private thoughts.
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Just to be in love seemed the most blissful luxury I had ever known. The thought came to me that perhaps it is the loving that counts, not the being loved in return -- that perhaps true loving can never know anything but happiness. For a moment I felt that I had discovered a great truth.
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Perhaps if I make myself write I shall find out what is wrong with me.
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Father says hot water can be as stimulating as an alcoholic drink and though I never come by one...I can well believe it.
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Oh, comfortable cocoa!
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I have found that sitting in a place where you have never sat before can be inspiring.
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Was I the only woman in the world who, at my age - and after a lifetime of quite rampant independence - still did not quite feel grown up?
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Truthfulness so often goes with ruthlessness.
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How I wish I lived in a Jane Austen novel!
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I have noticed that rooms which are extra clean feel extra cold
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And no bathroom on earth will make up for marrying a bearded man you hate.
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Death is too much to ask of the living.
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I have really sinned. I am going to pause now, and sit here on the mound repenting in deepest shame.
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We were restless for ages...After a while I heard an owl hooting and calmed myself by thinking of it flying over the dark fields – and then I remembered it would be pouncing on mice. I love owls, but I wish God had made them vegetarian.
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Walking down Belmotte was the oddest sensation-- every step took us deeper into the mist until at last it closed over our heads. It was like being drowned in the ghost of water.
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I wanted to know more about the young ... strange that though they laughed so loud, they so seldom smiled. Perhaps laughter was involuntary whereas smiling was part of an attitude to life.
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What is it about the English countryside — why is the beauty so much more than visual? Why does it touch one so?
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I could marry the Devil himself if he had some money.
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