Just a turn of the doorknob, and there lies freedom.

You ask of my companions. Hills, sir, and the sundown, and a dog as large as myself.

My love for those I love -- not many -- not very many, but don't I love them so?

When we think of his lone effort to live and its bleak reward, the mind turns to the myth "for His mercy endureth forever," with confiding revulsion.

I know nothing in the world that has as much power as a word. Sometimes I write one, and I look at it, until it begins to shine.

These are the days when birds come back, a very few, a Bird or two, to take a backward look.

You cannot fold a flood and put it in a drawer, because the winds would find it out and tell your cedar floor.