Doesn’t all experience crumble in the end to mere literary material?
That was the worst of being poor, you couldn’t give the right things in sickness.
Many of the men who had come to the wilderness to practice religion appeared to have forgotten its true nature.
It is only by knowing how little life has in store for us that we are able to look on the bright side and avoid disappointment.
I am inclined to believe that a man may be free to do anything he pleases if only he will accept responsibility for whatever he does.
I revolted from sentimentality, less because it was false than because it was cruel.
There wouldn’t be half as much fun in the world if it weren’t for children and men, and there ain’t a mite of difference between them under the skins.
Spring was running in a thin green flame over the valley.
The worst thing about war is that so many people enjoy it.
To seize the flying thought before it escapes us is our only touch with reality.
Few forms of life are so engaging as birds.
The age is a vociferous one, and no prophet is without honor who is able to strike an attitude and to speak loud enough to make himself heard.
Nothing is more consuming, or more illogical, than the desire for remembrance.
Tilling the fertile soil of man’s vanity.
He who demands little gets it.
Preserve, within a wild sanctuary, an inaccessible valley of reverie.
Yes, I learned long ago that the only satisfaction of authorship lies in finding the very few who understand what we mean. As for outside rewards, there is not one that I have ever discovered.
I have written chiefly because, though I have often dreaded the necessity, I have found it more painful, in the end, not to write.
Give the young half a chance and they will create their own future, they will even create their own heaven and earth.
What was time itself but the bloom, the sheath enfolding experience? Within time, and with time alone, there was life – the gleam, the quiver, the heartbeat, the immeasurable joy and anguish of being...