The hand descended. Nearer and nearer it came. It touched the ends of his upstanding hair. He shrank down under it. It followed down after him, pressing more closely against him. Shrinking, almost shivering. He still managed to hold himself together. It was a torment, this hand that touched him and violated his instinct. He could not forget in a day all the evil that had been wrought him at the hands of men.

You look back and see how hard you worked and how poor you were, and how desperately anxious you were to succeed, and all you can remember is how happy you were.

Having no new companions, nothing remained for him but to read.

A man with a club [bat] is a law-maker, a man to be obeyed, but not necessarily conciliated.

But I am I. And I won't subordinate my taste to the unanimous judgment of mankind

Don't write too much. Concentrate your sweat on one story, rather than dissipate it over a dozen.

Make good the good in you...and you will slowly steal into the Hawaiian heart, which is all of softness, and gentleness, and sweetness.