once a man had thrust his hands into the soil and knew the grit of it between his teeth, he felt something rise within him that was not of his day or generation, but had persisted through birth and death from a time beyond recall.

A false vision was better than none.

By mid-morning a rain as fine as silk spills was weaving over the lake.

The past ... is a dim avenue down which we may walk and find the diverging paths of terror and beauty and passion.

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

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

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.