To see a hillside white with dogwood bloom is to know a particular ecstasy of beauty, but to walk the gray Winter woods and find the buds which will resurrect that beauty in another May is to partake of continuity.

Man is wise and constantly in quest of more wisdom; but the ultimate wisdom, which deals with beginnings, remains locked in a seed.

There is a leisure about walking, no matter what pace you set, that lets down the tension.

For all his learning or sophistication, man still instinctively reaches towards that force beyond. Only arrogance can deny its existence, and the denial falters in the face of evidence on every hand. In every tuft of grass, in every bird, in every opening bud, there it is.

April is a promise that May is bound to keep.

A frontier is never a place; it is a time and a way of life.

There are two seasonal diversions that can ease the bite of any winter. One is the January thaw. The other is the seed catalogues.