The best fish in the world are of course those one catches oneself.

Madness is only a variety of mental nonconformity and we are all individualists here.

Now he understood. This was death. Death was a silence that gave back no answer.

They were all too tightly bound together, men and women, creatures wild and tame, flowers, fruits and leaves, to ask that any one be spared. As long as the whole continued, the earth could go about its business.

Somewhere beyond the sink-hole, past the magnolia, under the live oaks, a boy and a yearling ran side by side, and were gone forever.

Lives are only one with living. How dare we, in our egos, claim catastrophe in the rise and fall of the individual entity? There is only Life, and we are beads strung on its strong and endless thread.

to comfort any mortal against loneliness, one other is enough.