To my way of thinking and working, the greatest service a piece of fiction can do any reader is to leave him with a higher ideal of life than he had when he began. If in one small degree it shows him where he can be...gentler, saner, cleaner, kindlier...it is a wonder-working book. If it opens his eyes to one beauty in nature he never saw for himself and leads him one step toward the God of the Universe, it is a beneficial book.

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.

There was an exquisitely beautiful conception in my brain when I did this piece of work all alone from midnight until morning after the experience of a wonderful day. But I was not able to make the consummation anywhere nearly as beautiful as the inspiration. That, I suppose, is the cry of every heart struggling for self-expression.

If you are lazy, and accept your lot, you may live in it. If you are willing to work, you can write your name anywhere you choose.

Being dead was one thing, getting ready for a wedding another.

What was money that it should make such dreadful things of men and women?