In an underdeveloped country don't drink the water. In a developed country don't breathe the air.

I ain't sleeping. I'm just taking a good look at the insides of my eyelids.

One classic American landscape haunts all of American literature. It is a picture of Eden, perceived at the instant of history when corruption has just begun to set it. The serpent has shown his scaly head in the undergrowth. The apple gleams on the tree. The old drama of the Fall is ready to start all over again.

Trouble defies the law of gravity. It's easier to pick up than to drop.

At night, what you see is a city, because all you see is lights. By day, it doesn't look like a city at all. The trees out-number the houses. And that's completely typical of Seattle. You can't quite tell: is it a city, is it a suburb, is the forest growing back?

Spells of acute loneliness are an essential part of travel. Loneliness makes things happen.

When I want an opinion, I'll get it from my peers - from men of vision, like our great railroad builders... Stanford, Huntington, Dinsmore... fellows with imaginations broad enough to span the continent.