The transcendental point of view, the habit of thought bred by communion with earth and sky, had refined the grain while it had roughened the husk.

But youth isn't happy. Youth is sadder than age.

Few forms of life are so engaging as birds.

Of one thing alone I am very sure: it is a law of our nature that the memory of longing should survive the more fugitive memory of fulfillment.

The suitable is the last thing we ever want.

Mediocrity would always win by force of numbers, but it would win only more mediocrity.

I had no place in any coterie, or in any reciprocal self-advertising. I stood alone. I stood outside. I wanted only to learn. I wanted only to write better.