Here in Florida the seasons move in and out like nuns in soft clothing, making no rustle in their passing.

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.

it is my conviction that the personality of the writer has nothing to do with the literate product of his mind. And publicity in this case embarrasses me because I am acutely conscious of how far short the book falls of the artistry I am struggling to achieve. It's like being caught half-dressed.

A dead tree, falling, made less havoc than a live one. It seemed as though a live tree went down fighting, like an animal.

Men had reached into the scrub and along its boundaries, had snatched what they could get and had gone away, uneasy in that vast indifferent peace; for a man was nothing, crawling ant-like among the myrtle bushes under the pines. Now they were gone, it was as though they had never been. The silence of the scrub was primordial. The wood-thrush crying across it might have been the first bird in the world-or the last.

It's very important to be just to other people. It takes years and years of living to learn that injustice against oneself is always unimportant.

no case of libel by a negro against a white would even reach a southern court.