Most of what we call the classics of world literature suggest artifacts in a wax museum. We have to hire and pay professors to get them read and talked about.

If industrial man continues to multiply his numbers and expand his operations he will succeed in his apparent intention, to seal himself off from the natural and isolate himself within a synthetic prison of his own making.

Congress is always willing to appropriate money for more and bigger paved roads, anywhere -- particularly if they form loops.

A critic is to an author as a fungus to an oak.

Belief? What do I believe in? I believe in sun. In rock. In the dogma of the sun and the doctrine of the rock. I believe in blood, fire, woman, rivers, eagles, storm, drums, flutes, banjos, and broom-tailed horses.

Our big social institutions do not reflect human nature; they distort it.

But it is a writer's duty to write and speak and record the truth, always the truth, no matter whom may be offended.