1.It is the first day of November and so, today, someone will die.
2.October extinguished itself in a rush of howling winds and driving rain and November arrived, cold as frozen iron, with hard frosts every morning and icy drafts that bit at exposed hands and faces.
3.November comes and November goes. With the last red berries and the first white snows. With night coming early and dawn coming late, and ice in the bucket and frost by the gate. The fires burn and the kettles sing, and earth sinks to rest until next spring.
4.I know that I have died before once in November.
5.But there is always a November space after the leaves have fallen when she felt it was almost indecent to intrude on the wood for their glory terrestrial had departed and their glory celestial of spirit and purity and whiteness had not yet come upon them.
6.The house was very quiet, and the fog we are in November now pressed against the windows like an excluded ghost.
7.There is October in every November and there is November in every December. All seasons melted in each other’s life.
8.It is also November. The noons are more laconic and the sunsets sterner, and Gibraltar lights make the village foreign. November always seemed to me the Norway of the year is still with the sister who put her child in an ice nest last Monday forenoon.
9.November. Crows are approaching, wounded leaves fall to the ground. – Sir Kristian Goldmund Aumann
10.This November there seems to be nothing to say.
11.The widower reviewed his past in a sunless light which was intensified by the greyness of the November twilight, whilst the bells subtly impregnated the surrounding atmosphere with the melody of sounds that faded like the ashes of dead years.
12.Don’t wait until the fourth Thursday in November, to sit with family and friends to give thanks. Make every day a day of Thanksgiving.
13.The river this November afternoon rests in an equipoise of sun and cloud. A glooming light, a gleaming darkness shroud. Its passage. All seems tranquil, all in tune.
14.Jam on November took away the worries, It was like tasting summer.
15.Welcome sweet November, the season of senses and my favorite month of all. – Gregory F. Lenz
16.I touched her comb and took it out, her hair came flooding down like a wave, and her long black tresses quivered as they fell to her hips. I immediately ran my hand over it, and in it, and beneath it. I plunged my arm into it, and bathed my face in it, filled with sadness.
17.Sylvia Plath and I met a long time ago. A really long time ago. Was it a summer day? No. It was a wintry November morning.
18.My lovely November. Have you seen my heart, somewhere in your castle of yellow leaves?
19.Autumn. The greatest show of all times.
20.How I wish to fly with the geese away from dreary November days, the “freeze-up,” and cruel winter. Away from loneliness, isolation, and anxiety bred by blizzards.
21.There you go, seems to me you’re right.
22.November with uncanny witchery in its changed trees. With murky red sunsets flaming in smoky crimson behind the westering hills. With dear days when the austere woods were beautiful and gracious in a dignified serenity of folded hands and closed eyes–days full of a fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late,
23.November always seemed to me the Norway of the year.
24.In November, the trees are standing all sticks and bones. Without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still.
25.November is usually such a disagreeable month as if the year had suddenly found out that she was growing old and could do nothing but weep and fret over it.
26.In November, the smell of food is different. It is an orange smell. A squash and pumpkin smell. It tastes like cinnamon and can fill up a house in the morning, can pull everyone from bed in a fog.
27.In November, the earth is growing quiet. It is making its bed, a winter bed for flowers and small creatures. The bed is white and silent, and much life can hide beneath its blankets.
28.Wind warns November’s done with. The blown leaves make bat-shapes, Web-winged and furious.
29.The November evening had a bite; it nibbled not-quite-gently at her cheeks and ears. In Virginia the late autumn was a lover, still, but a dangerous one.
30.In November, people are good to each other. They carry pies to each other’s homes and talk by crackling wood stoves, sipping mellow cider.
31.Happiness isn’t something you experience; it’s something you remember.
32.The last dying days of summer, fall coming on fast. A cold night, the first of the season, a change from the usual bland Maryland climate. Cold, thought the boy; his mind felt numb. The trees he could see through his bedroom window were tall charcoal sticks, shivering, afraid of the wind or only trying to stand against it. Every tree was alone out there. The animals were alone, each in its hole, in its thin fur, and anything that got hit on the road tonight would die alone.
33.That’s who my mom is. She’s a listener and a doer. She’s a woman driven by compassion, by faith, by a fierce sense of justice and a heart full of love.
34.The candidate out front on Labor Day has historically been the one who stayed ahead in November.
35.I have liberal friends. They are misguided, they are wrong. I disagree with them. I don’t want them to vote. I want them to go on vacation in November.
36.The soldiers did go away and their towns were torn down and in the Moon of Falling Leaves, they made a treaty with Red Cloud that said our country would be ours as long as grass should grow and water flow.
37.The grass roots are energized because the absolutely highest priority in the country in November is to defeat Barack Obama. I have spoken with literally thousands and thousands of tea-party activists – I have yet to meet a single tea-party leader that is not going to vote for Mitt Romney.
38.The month of November makes me feel that life is passing more quickly. In an effort to slow it down, I try to fill the hours more meaningfully.
39.I go to Japan every November on vacation, and the one thing I never return home without is yuba, which is the thin skin that forms atop boiling soy milk. You skim it off and either eat it fresh or dry it.
40.When I set out to write ‘I’m Judging You,’ I wanted to create something that was both timely and timeless. But I didn’t know how timely this book would be until we, the people of the United States, elected a walking Cheeto to the highest office in the land on November 8, 2016.
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