Art is the terms of an armistice signed with fate.

One may lack words to express the impact of beauty but no one who has felt it remains untouched. It is renewal, enlargement, intensification. The parks preserve it permanently in the inheritance of the American citizens.

This is the violet hour, the hour of hush and wonder, when the affectations glow and valor is reborn, when the shadows deepen along the edge of the forest and we believe that, if we watch carefully, at any moment we may see the unicorn.

The trouble with Reason is that it becomes meaningless at the exact point where it refuses to act.

The only places where American medicine can fully live up to its possibilities are the teaching hospitals.

Art is the terms of an armistice signed with fate.

The West begins where the average annual rainfall drops below twenty inches. When you reach the line which marks that drop - for convenience, the one hundredth meridian - you have reached the West.