One does not travel by plane. One is merely sent, like a parcel.

If only I could so live and so serve the world that after me there should never again be birds in cages.

I had seen a herd of Buffalo, one hundred and twenty-nine of them, come out of the morning mist under a copper sky, one by one, as if the dark and massive, iron-like animals with the mighty horizontally swung horns were not approaching, but were being created before my eyes and sent out as they were finished.

It is not a bad thing in a tale that you understand only half of it.

I start with a tingle, a kind of feeling of the story I will write. Then come the characters, and they take over, they make the story.

Coffee, according to the women of Denmark, is to the body what the Word of the Lord is to the soul.

To be a person is to have a story to tell.