I like spring, but it is too young.
I like summer, but it is too proud.
So I like autumn best of all, because its tone is more mellow, its colours are richer, and it is tinged with a little sorrow
Its golden richness speaks not of the innocence of spring, nor the power of summer, but of the mellow and kindly wisdom of approaching age.
It knows the limitations of life and it is content.
Posted using my iPhone and Blogpress.