There it is, fog, atmospheric moisture still uncertain in destination, not quite weather and not altogether mood, yet partaking of both.

In a painful time of my life I went often to a wooded hillside where May apples grew by the hundreds, and I thought the sourness of their fruit had a symbolism for me. Instead, I was to find both love and happiness soon thereafter. So to me [the May apple] is the mandrake, the love symbol, of the old dealers in plant restoratives.

As I stood and watched the mists slowly rising this morning I wondered what view was more beautiful than this.

There are no limits to either time or distance, except as man himself may make them. I have but to touch the wind to know these things.

October is the fallen leaf, but it is also a wider horizon more clearly seen.

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

Any river is really the summation of a whole valley. It shapes not only the land but the life and even the culture of that valley. To think of any river as nothing but water is to ignore the greater part of it.