It is very difficult to be wholly joyous or wholly sad on this earth. The comic, when it is human, soon takes upon itself a face of pain; and some of our griefs (some only, not all, for it is the capacity for suffering which makes man August in the eyes of men) have their source in weaknesses which must be recognized with smiling com passion as the common inheritance of us all.

Facing it, always facing it, that's the way to get through. Face it.

It echoed loudly within him because he was hollow at the core.

Books may be written in all sorts of places. Verbal inspiration may enter the berth of a mariner on board a ship frozen fast in a river in the middle of a town.

Some of us, regarding the ocean with understanding and affection, have seen it looking old, as if the immemorial ages had been stirred up from the undisturbed bottom of ooze. For it is a gale of wind that makes the sea look old.

In plucking the fruit of memory one runs the risk of spoiling its bloom, especially if it has got to be carried into the market.

In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing into a continent.