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

He who travels west travels not only with the sun but with history.

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

He who walks may see and understand. You can study all America from one hilltop, if your eyes are open and your mind is willing to reach. But first you must walk to that hill.

All our yesterdays are summarized in our now, and all the tomorrows are ours to shape.

No winter lasts forever; no spring skips its turn.

March is a tomboy with tousled hair, a mischievous smile, mud on her shoes and a laugh in her voice.