The true harvest of my life is intangible - a little star dust caught, a portion of the rainbow I have clutched.

I come to my solitary woodland walk as the homesick go home. I thus dispose of the superfluous and see things as they are, grand and beautiful.

We discover a new world every time we see the earth again after it has been covered for a season with snow.

We can never safely exceed the actual facts in our narratives. Of pure invention, such as some suppose, there is no instance. To write a true work of fiction even is only to take leisure and liberty to describe some things more exactly as they are.

What can be expressed in words can be expressed in life.

Our thoughts are epochs in our lives; all else is but as a journal of the winds that blow while we are here.

As far as our noblest hardwood forests are concerned, the animals, especially squirrels and jays, are our greatest and almost only benefactors. It is to them that we owe this gift. It is not in vain that the squirrels live in or about every forest tree, or hollow log, and every wall and heap of stones.