Theres nothing half so pleasant as coming home again.

In very truth it is the unattained which gives zest to the commonplace and brims the cup of our daily life with keenest joy.

Love is like fire, a dangerous thing to play with, although the best of friends and the most loyal of servants when rightly handled.

God made the forests, the tiny stars, and the wild winds-and I think that he made them partly as a balance for that kind of civilization that would choke the spirit of joy out of our hearts. He made the great open places for the people who want to be alone with him and talk to him, away from the crowds that kill all reverence. And I think that he is glad at times to have us forget our cares and responsibilities that we may be nearer him-as Jesus was when he crept away into the wilderness to pray.

In home life contentment is an essential to daily comfort. One discontented person in the house creates an atmosphere fatal to tranquillity.

I would not, if I could, give up the memory of the joy I have had in books for any advantage that could be offered in other pursuits or occupations. Books have been to me what gold is to the miser, what new fields are to the explorer.

Spring is beautiful, and summer is perfect for vacations, but autumn brings a longing to get away from the unreal things of life, out into the forest at night with a campfire and the rustling leaves.