...prodigal summer, the season of extravagant procreation. It could wear out everything in its path with its passionate excesses, but nothing alive with wings or a heart or a seed curled into itself in the ground could resist welcoming it back when it came.

The way I see it, a person isn't nothing more than a scarecrow... The only difference between one that stands up good and one that blows over is what kind of a stick they're stuck up there on.

Feeling that morality has nothing to do with the way you use the resources of the world is an idea that can't persist much longer. If it does, then we won't.

If you're standing in the manure pile, it's somebody's job to mention the stink.

Your dreams, what you hope for and all that, it's not separate from your life. It grows right up out of it.

I thought: this is how life is, ridiculous beyond comprehension.

Morning always comes.