The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.

You have stirred the soil with your plow, my friend. It will never be the same again.

There was nothing so real on the prairie as winter, nothing so memorable.

Growing old was simply a process of drawing closer to that ultimate independence called death.

There's precious little comes of telling people what they don't want to hear.

it was a sly trick of God's to give a man work to do - it kept him from asking questions that God couldn't answer.

The lush green of the fields became a rich gold that swayed sturdily under the wind and fell at last before the hands of the reapers.