A sickness ... defines margins, crystallizes the shape of things.

Here and there on the branch of an oak a congress of leaves still clung, rigid as flakes of bronze.

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.

But one had to go back to the beginning of things, always. Trace the thread of life - find the knot - untangle it.

The snow again. White, white net of beauty, net of dream, trapping the earth, trapping the helpless heart of life.

a man can break God's laws and be forgiven. That's what they teach us. But when he breaks Nature's laws, there's no forgiveness - and there's no escape. Sooner or later he pays the penalty, or his children pay it - or his children's children. It doesn't matter much. It must be paid.

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.