The sky was of the deepest ...

The sky was of the deepest blue, with a few white, fleecy clouds drifting lazily across it, and the air was filled with the low drone of insects or with a sudden sharper note as bee or bluefly shot past with its quivering, long-drawn hum, like an insect tuning-fork.
The sky was of the deepest blue, with a few white, fleecy clouds drifting lazily across it, and the air was filled with the low drone of insects or with a sudden sharper note as bee or bluefly shot past with its quivering, long-drawn hum, like an insect tuning-fork.

Quotes from the same author

It has long been an axiom of mine that the little things are infinitely the most important.
Mediocrity knows nothing higher than itself, but talent instantly recognizes genius.
Whenever you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.
It is, I admit, mere imagination; but how often is imagination the mother of truth?
Skill is fine, and genius is splendid, but the right contacts are more valuable than either.