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

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.

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

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.

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

A false vision was better than none.

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.