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

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

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

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

There is too much doing - too little being! When we begin to get strenuous, life begins to grow intolerable.

I don't see as it matters much how well you mean if it's harm you're doin'.

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