I do not live for what the world thinks of me, but for what I think of myself.

The man, with his brain, can pierce the intoxicating mirage of things and contemplate a frozen universe in the most perfect indifference to him and his dreams.

The Wild still lingered in him and the wolf in him merely slept.

He was not immoral, but merely unmoral.

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.

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

I write for no other purpose than to add to the beauty that now belongs to me. I write a book for no other reason than to add three or four hundred acres to my magnificent estate.