Forsythia is pure joy. There is not an ounce, not a glimmer of sadness or even knowledge in forsythia. Pure, undiluted, untouched joy.

Flying was a very tangible freedom. In those days, it was beauty, adventure, discovery - the epitome of breaking into new worlds.

Love is a force. . . . It is not a result; it is a cause. It is not a product. It is a power, like money, or steam or electricity. It is valueless unless you can give something else by means of it.

Nothing feeds the center of being so much as creative work. The curtain of mechanization has come down between the mind and the hand.

Rivers perhaps are the only physical features of the world that are at their best from the air.

Fame is a kind of death because it arrests life around the person in the public eye.

My father taught me that a bill is like a crying baby and has to be attended to at once.