The devil! what beastly things our memories insist on cherishing!

Dey's some things I don't got to be told. I kin read them in folks' eyes.

We need above all to learn again to believe in the possibility of nobility of spirit in ourselves.

I am so far from being a pessimist...on the contrary, in spite of my scars, I am tickled to death at life.

Like a saint's vision of beatitude. Like the veil of things as they seem drawn back by an unseen hand. For a second you see—and seeing the secret, are the secret. For a second there is meaning! Then the hand lets the veil fall and you are alone, lost in the fog again, and you stumble on toward nowhere, for no good reason!

Critics? I love every bone in their heads.

Suppose I was to tell you that it's just beauty that's calling me, the beauty of the far off and unknown, the mystery and spell which lures me, the need of freedom of great wide spaces, the joy of wandering on and on----in quest of the secret which is hidden over there----beyond the horizon?