You cannot write on the heart of another what you do not feel yourself.

the occasional cries of a lost loon, strayed from its flock in northern migration, fill the swamp with sounds of wailing.

But Aunt Margaret doesn't like boys," objected Elnora. "Well, she likes me, and I used to be a boy.

I do not know why it is the fate of the world always to want something different from what life gives them.

Of two evils, I always choose the lesser.

I don't so much mind the falling, but I do seem to select the hardest spots to light on.

I write as the birds sing, because I must, and usually from the same source of inspiration.