It was a day as different from other days as dogs are from cats and both of them from chrysanthemums or tidal waves or scarlet fever.

There's an awful lot of inactive kindness which is nothing but laziness, not wanting any trouble, confusion, or effort.

Doc still loved true things but he knew that it was not a general love and it could be a very dangerous mistress.

At one point, as Samuel urges Adam to raise his boys well regardless of the blood that might be in them, Adam tells him, "You can't make a race horse of a pig." Samuel replies, "No, but you can make a very fast pig.

It’s all fine to say, “Time will heal everything, this too shall pass away. People will forget”—and things like that when you are not involved, but when you are there is no passage of time, people do not forget and you are in the middle of something that does not change.

A journey is a person in itself; no two are alike. And all plans, safeguards, policies and coercion are fruitless. We find after years of struggle that we do not take a trip; a trip takes us.

Ever'body's askin' that. "What we comin' to?" Seems to me we don't never come to nothin'. Always on the way.