I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer -- and what trees and seasons smelled like -- how people looked and walked and smelled even. The memory of odors is very rich.

Once Charley fell in love with a dachshund, a romance racially unsuitable, physically ridiculous, and mechanically impossible. But all these problems Charley ignored. He loved deeply and tried dogfully.

The last clear definite function of men—muscles aching to work, minds aching to create beyond the single need—this is man.

The great companies did not know that the line between hunger and anger is a thin line.

The first grave. Now we're getting someplace. Houses and children and graves, that's home, Tom. Those are the things that hold a man down.

One must withdraw for a time from life in order to set down that picture.

How can we live without our lives? How will we know it's us without our past?