We are dying of preconceptions, outworn rules, decaying flags, venomous religions, and sentimentalities. We need a new world. We've wrenched up all the old roots. The old men have no roots. They don't know it. They just go on talking and flailing away and falling down on the young with their tons of dead weight and their power. For the power is still there, in their life-in-death. But the roots are dead, and the land is poisoned for miles around them.

New gods arise when they are needed.

The question we do not see when we are young is whether we own pride or are owned by it.

pacifists lead a lonely life. Not even gathering together can take the place of that vast, warm sun of approval that is shed on motherhood, on law-abiding, on killing, and on making money. Someday will we come into our own? Well, motherhood may move into the shade. Law-abiding is going through a trauma. But killing and making money are good for a long, long time.

in mad people fear goes on constantly, night and day, wearing one ditch in the mind that all thoughts must travel in.

Lord make me satisfied with small things. Make me content to live on the outside of life. God make me love the rind!

The woods seemed all answer and healing and more than enough to live for.