In the economy of nature nothing is ever lost. I cannot belive that the soul of man shall prove the one exception

Tears were a blessing; they were a relief; they did wash the ache from the heart, ease brain strain, and encourage the soul.

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

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

The wages of sin are the hardest debts on earth to pay, and they are always collected at inconvenient times and unexpected places.

To my way of thinking and working, the greatest service a piece of fiction can do any reader is to force him to lay it down with a higher ideal of life than he had when he took it up.

Nature can be trusted to work her own miracle in the heart of any man whose daily task keeps him alone among her sights, sounds and silences.