the truth is artistically fallacious.

For myself, the Creek satisfies a thing that had gone hungry and unfed since childhood days. I am often lonely. Who is not? But I should be lonelier in the heart of a city.

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.

I had done battle with a great fear and the victory was mine.

I have found that each of my books has developed out of something I have written in a previous book. Some thought evidently unfinished.

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