Why is it great? I've never read Bierce's satirical dictionary, but after coming across this sentence, it's on the list. With just a few words, he conjures up the dreariness of the month (with something quintessentially dreary: fractions). It's no longer the autumn of bright colors on the trees, and it's not quite yet winter, with its holidays and snowfalls. An impatience for the year to be over grows (especially true for 2017, perhaps).
“NOVEMBER, noun. The eleventh twelfth of a weariness.”
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“Go out, little book, into the world.”
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