A city man is a home anywhere, for all big cities are much alike. But a country man has a place where he belongs, where he always returns, and where, when the time comes, he is willing to die.

Places: a cold, bleak, lonely day on the rim at Muley Point, Utah. And the heart-cracking loveliness of the blood-smeared, bitter, incomprehensible slaughterhouse of a world.

The highest treason, the meanest treason, is to deny the holiness of this little blue planet on which we journey through the cold void of space.

If you feel that you're not ready to die, never fear; nature will give you complete and adequate assistance when the time comes.

Democracy -- rule by the people -- sounds like a fine thing; we should try it sometime in America.

To die alone, on rock under sun at the brink of the unknown, like a wolf, like a great bird, seems to me very good fortune indeed.

All forms of government are pernicious, including good government.