The climate changed quickly to cold and the trees burst into color, the reds and yellows you can’t believe. It isn’t only color but a glowing, as though the leaves gobbled the light of the autumn sun and then released it slowly.
Travels with Charley (New York: Penguin, 1997), p. 23
Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.
The Writings of George Eliot, vol. 23 (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1908), 71.