The Heart is a Lonely Hunter.

I´m a stranger in a strange land.

There are the lover and the beloved, but these two come from different countries.

Maybe when people longed for a thing that bad the longing made them trust in anything that might give it to them.

The seed of the idea is developed by both labor and the unconscious, and the struggle that goes on between them.

There is no stillness like the quiet of the first cold nights in the fall.

All men are lonely. But sometimes it seems to me that we Americans are the loneliest of all. Our hunger for foreign places and new ways has been with us almost like a national disease. Our literature is stamped with a quality of longing and unrest, and our writers have been great wanderers.