...notice how he will come to manhood with his own particular soul bespeaking itself through the windows which are his eyes, and such lovely eyes surely do prophesy and indicate the loveliest of souls.

Her little shoulders drove me mad; I hugged her and hugged her. And she loved it. 'I love love,' she said, closing her eyes. I promised her beautiful love. I gloated over her. Our stories were told; we subsided into silence and sweet anticipatory thoughts. It was as simple as that. You could have all your Peaches and Bettys and Marylous and Ritas and Camilles and Inezes in this world; this was my girl and my kind of girlsoul, and I told her that.

...but I preferred reading the American landscape as we went along. Every bump, rise, and stretch in it mystified my longing.

There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.

It always makes me proud to love the world somehow- hate's so easy compared.

Always pull back-and see how silly we must look to God.

Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind.